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IN THE PRIMEVAL WOODS 



BIRCH LEAVES 




Homely Verse for Homely People, 
with Homely Virtues and Sentiments 



Written from time to time by 
Mrs. AUCE e! BARTLETT 



DETROIT, MICH. 

THE FRANKLIN PRESS 

19 05 



7^ aroz 



LIBRARY of OONGSESS 
Iwo Copies KectiJvtai 

APR 21 1905 

'Jopyrigjif tiUry 

t=UtSi> CL AXc. IMo; 
oupy i3(. 



' 



Copyrighted, 1905 

BY 

The Franklin Press 
(incorporated) 



FOREWORD 



The scientist, the financier, the mechanic deal with math- 
emetical forces-; the artist, the musician and the poet are 
concerned principally with those mighty, volatile and over- 
whelming forces which are imprisoned within the word feel- 
ing. Without the interpreting voice of musician, poet and art- 
ist, life would be mechanical and sordid. 

Poetry can not be made; it must be born. It is the 
heart's painter, and pictures, as nothing else can, the ran- 
dom moods and tenses which we pick out here and there 
from experience. 

It is also the souFs musician, and voices the vary 
ing breaths of feeling which sweep over the soul sensitized 
with the divine harmonies of life. Oftentimes it wears 
patched g^arments and "goes lame," but the indwelling 
spirit speaks despite the clothes it wears. If it voices 
with a true note of feeling, some cry of the heart, or 
wreathes the actual with the garlands of hope and cheer, it 
is poetry, even though it hobbles on one foot, and goes 
begging in homespun. 

To amuse, to interest, to cheer, to voice the universal 
longings of the human heart for expression these poems have 
been written. If they strike some chord of sympathy, or 
evoke some note of harmony in the hearts of the voice- 
less, this offering of "BIRCH LEAVES" will not have 
been in vain. 



^n^HESE verses are inscribed to the 
memory of my beautiful Mother, 
who was my severest critic and warm- 
est admirer. 



AMONG THE BIRCHES 

Oh "ladies of the forest" 

In gowns of silvery white, 
Against the shadowed copses 

Agleam like bars of light, 
Ye wear the crown of beauty 

The dryads wore of old, 
And all the woodland vistas 

With witchery enfold! 



Sweet 'ladies of the forest," 

With pastel shades of green 
In the laces falling over 

Your gowns of silver sheen, 
I follow where ye lead me, 

Bacchante to your spell. 
Content in visual glory 

Forever more to dwell ! 



PART ONE 



WITH A BIT OF THE BARK 

Old fashioned thoughts in homely guise 
These rugged verses mark; 

They're just a touch of every day 
Clothed in a bit of bark. 



WHEN THE SAP BEGINS TU RUN 

When the sap begins tu run, 

Then's the time o havin' fun, 

Fer the 'arth is jes' a laughin' 

An' a giglin' all the while, 

O'er the way she'll up an' sprize us 

Jes' a showin' us her smile; 

In the buds an' greenin' grasses, 

In the lambs an' lads and lasses. 

All a feelin' gay an' frisky, 

Half way drunk on Springtime's whiskey 

Made o' light an' air an' sun, 

When the sap begins tu run. 

When the sap begins tu run, 
Then's the time o' havin' fun. 
Go intu the woods and listen. 
Nature's takin' count o' stock 
Stirrin' things up mighty lively 
Pokin' round each root an' rock. 
Tellin' 'em it's time tu hustle 
Jes' get up an' make a bustle, 
'Stead o' lazin' 'round a dreamin' 
'Ith the warmth an' light a beaniin' 
From a south'ard creepin' sun 
When the sap begins tu run. 

When the sap begins tu run 
Then's the time o' havin' fun. 
Down the slantin' driven spiles, 
Drops the sap in tinklin' smiles, 
'Till the buckets brimmin' o'er 
In the copper kettle pour, 

II 



BIRCH LEAVES 



An' the boys start up the fire, 
An' the flames creep higher, higher, 
An' the gals in rosy hoods 
G3me a dancin^ down the woods, 
Lookin' like the risin' sun 
When the sap beeins tu run. 

When the sap begins tu run 
Then's the time o' havin* fun. 
or folks mindin' things tu hum, 
Young folks raisin* 'Kingdom come' 
Laughin', crackin' funny jokes, 
Wakin' up the sleepy oaks, 
Singin' songs, an' playin' bluff 
'Thout a soul tu cry, enough. 
My, but it's a purty sight 
Mary's arm so plump an' white, 
Tryin' ef the boilin's done. 
When the sap begins tu run! 

When the sap begins tu run 
Then's the time o' havin' fun. 
Sugarin' off, 'ith lots tu eat 
Don't somehow seem half es sweet, 
'Less in Mary's eyes I look 
Readin' 'em ies' like a book, 
'Till she drops her lids an' sighs 
In a sort o' sweet surprize. 
An' I snatch her hand an' say, 
'Mary, you jes' name the day.' 
Golly! life hes lots o' fun, 
When the sap begins tu run ! 



12 



THE MAN WHO MAKES US LAUGH 

There may be pinnacles of fame, 

That tower o'er solid worth; 
But his the chance to win a name 

Which echoes 'round the earth, 
Who sifts the measured weight of grain 

To gather up its chaff; 
For there's a premium, 'tis plain, 

On him who makes us laugh ! 



The truths of science, nature, art. 

We reckon old and dry; 
And as for feeling, or for heart. 

What matter if they die, 
If but the goblet's beaded brim 

With him we learn to quaff. 
Who sees the fun upon its rim, — 

The man who makes us laugh? 



Where e'er he goes, success will say 

"This man is fortune's own ; 
He's carved a patent right of way 

To her exclusive throne; 
The sober minded folk below 

Can't equal him by half, 
Because they've failed to be, you know 

Like him who makes us laugh !" 
13 



BIRCH LEAVES 



I wish I were the happy man 

Who sees such fun in life ; 
Who garners all the joy he can 

From turmoil, doubt, and strife ; 
I wish the world could write for me 

This joyous epitaph 
When I shall cross the voiceless sea — 

"Here's one could make us laugh!" 



14 



BRACE UP 

When the day o' trouble's breakin' 
An' sets yer heart a quakin' 

'Till ye all but get tu wishin' ye was everlastin' dead, 
Brace up ; truth ain't a nappin'. 
An' ye'll need yer strena^th fer runnin' 
An' gittin^ in ahead; 

Brace up ! brace up ! an' bear yer yoke, 
An' grin, an' take it like a joke, 
Brace up! I say! 

When there aint no liio^ht a shinin', 

An' lonesomely ye're pinin' 

O'er things that didn't happen, or did along the way; 

Brace up, an' git tu hoein', 

'Twill pay ye more than blowin' 

'Bout trouble all the day; 

Brace up! brace up! the bravest part 

Ain't takin' every thin' tu heart. 
Brace up ! I say ! 

When friends ye love deceive ye 
An' go away, an' leave ye 

A wond'rin' how the truth kin let such falsehood be; 
Brace up; truth ain't a nappin', 
Some day she'll come a slappin' 
A scart hypocrisy ; 

Brace up ! brace up ! an' help tu ketch 
In honor's grip, the faintin' wretch. 
Brace up! I say! 
15 



BIRCH LEAVES 



I'll tell ye what I'm thinkin', 
That justice ain't a blinkin' 

Ez the blind, an' lazy scoundrels like tu feel; 
Brace up, fer when she's ready 
She'll hit *em awful steady, 
An' stomp 'em 'neath her heel; 
Brace up ! brace up ! the pluck tu win 
Don't come unless ye dare begin, 
Brace uo! I say! 



So keep yer lamps a burnin,' 
An' the wheels of life a turnin' 

Tu ketch the many chances a flyin' here below ; 
Brace up, good luck may nab us. 
An' fortune tew may grab us, 
Most any time, ye know; 
Brace up ! brace up ! before life's clock, 
Has ticked for us its last tick, tock. 
Brace up ! I say ! 



16 



THE SONG OF THE TEA KETTLE 

This here world's a lot o' music, 

An' a heap o' singin' tunes, 
That's been goin' round creation 

Sence the first o' sunny Junes ; 
From the bird song up to op'ry, 

(Can't say though that op'ry's best) 
Fer thar ain't no^ other music, 

That has got a note of rest 
Like its hummin', hummin', hummin' 

When the kettle singrs to me, 
"Bubble, bubble, bubble, 
Fergit yer care an' trouble 

In a steamin' cup o' tea." 



There's my chair beside the chimbly, 

An' the kettle on the hob, 
A singin' 'sif the hull creation 

Was dependin' on its job, 
An' it knew that men were weary 

An' a needin' lots o' cheer. 
As it pipes up loud, an' louder, 

So that every one can hear 
"I 'm a singin', singin', singin' 

Jest as merry as can be, 
"Bubble, bubble, bubble, 
Fergit yer care an' trouble 

In a steamin' cup o' tea." 

17 



BIRCH LEAVES 



On the t'other side the chimbly, 

Sets my crony, cup in hand, 
Jest a drinkin' in the language 

Two fond souls can understand, 
An' we listen, listen, listen. 

As the kettle bobs an' sings 
Of home, an' love, an' friends and comfort, 

An' lots o 'dear an' common things, 
'Till there ain't no other music, 

We solemnly agree. 
Like it's ''bubble, bubble, bubble, 

In a steamin' cup o' tea." 



18 



" MY MA, SHE KNOWS " 

My Pa, he scolds me jes' becuz 
He says Fm gittin' "tough ;" 

He says my face is never clean, 
My hands are always rough ; 

I'm not behavin' like I should, 

An' goin' wrong, I 'spose, 

But Ma, she takes an' pats my hand 
An' smiles, becuz she knows ! 



My Pa haint got no use for boys, 

He wants 'em always men; 
I wonder if he's clean forgot 

The boy he must 'a been; 
Fer Ma, she says they're all alike 

'Bout face an' hands an' clothes, 
An' says I'll learn to be a man 

An' Ma, I guess she knows ! 



My Pa, he says I ain't no good 

At doin' anything; 
I'd ruther fool away the time. 
An' whistle, play an' sing; 
But Ma, she smiles an' says I'm young 

An' then she up, an' goes 
An' kisses me, an' shows me how ; 

For Ma, you bet she knows ! 

19 



BIRCH LEAVES 



My Pa, he says I'll never be 

A business man like him, 
Becuz I hain't got any "drive" 

An' **get up," "pluck" an' "vim;" 
But Ma she says so solemn like 

A man's a boy that grows. 
An' boys must have their play in' spell. 

An' Ma's a trump, an' knows ! 

My Pa. he shakes his head an' sighs 

An' says he doesn't see 
Where I get all the careless ways 

That seem jes' born in me; 
An' Ma, she laughs, an' laughs, an' laughs, 

'Till Pa's face crimson grows, 
An' then she says, " 'Tis very queer," 

But somehow, Ma, she knows ! 



My Ma, she knows most everything 

'Bout boys, an' what they like ; 
She's never scolding 'bout the muss 

I make with kites, an' bike ; 
She says she wishes I'd be good. 

An' conquer all my foes. 
An' you jes' bet I'm goin' to be, 

'Cuz my sweet Ma, she knows ! 



20 



rSE so GLAD rSE LIVIN*, HONEY 

I'se so glad Fse livin' honey, 

Jes' to ketch yo' tendah smile, 
W^en I comes in tru de do' way 

Aftah I'se been ^one erwhile ; 
All de trubble an' de darkness, 

Seems ter vanish w'en I see 
Jes' de way yo's smilin' honey, 

Smilin' up so sweet at me! 

I's so glad I's livin' honey! 

Often in de cotton fiel's. 
Wen I'se sweatin' lak er butchah, 

Sech er comfort o'er me steals, 
Case I'se wukin', wukin' honey. 

All fer yo', an' all fer love — 
Talk erbout yer Heaven, honey 

Haint none lak hit up erbove ! 



I'se so glad I'se livin' honey, 

Yo's all de worl' I'se got, 
'S long's I'se got yo' go way trubble 

It caint tech dis blessed spot; 
'Specs if I should be an angel 

'Way up yondah, missin' yo'. 
I'd go say ter ol' Saint Peter, 

Dis ain't Heaven, lemme tru ! 
21 



A SINGIN* TU THE BABY 

Yew couldn't see a purtier sipfht! 

An' yet she's jest a woman, 
A showin' she has ^ot a heart 

That's mighty warm an' human, 
Fer the tiny head a^in' her breast. 

As back an' forth she's swingjin' 
The rockin' chair, an' them ol' hymns 

Is so fly, sweetly sin^in' : 
I set an' watch her by the hour, 

Or less, perhaps it may be. 
My Sally, lookin' like a flower, 

An' singin' tu our baby! 



It ain't so many years ago 

We walked the lanes together, 
A boy an' gal a singin' songs, 

With hearts jes' like a feather. 
I thought her then the purtiest gal 

That ever wore a bunnit. 
An' when I growed to be a man, 

I'd staked my life upon it ; 
But now I know I didn't know 

What beauty is, or may be. 
When Sally with her face aglow, 

Is singin' tu our baby ! 
22 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 



That downy head ap:in her breast 

Jest sets my heart a beatin' 
With wonderin' if Heaven's got 

A joy that's more completin'; 
An' if there's ary kind of saint, 

That is somehow or ruther 
A sweeter thing- in God's own sight 

Then jest a lovin' mother: 
An' then I bend above her chair, 

An' know there ain't, nor may be, 
A purtier sight than Sally there 

A singin' tu our baby ! 



23 



MAMMY'S LULLABY 

Oh whoo ! oh whoo ! de night owl hoots, 

Yander in de co'n, 
Oowee ! oowee ! mah honey ! mah honey ! 
De debbil knows yo's bo'n; 
He's waitin' in de whisp'rin* co'n, 
Twel dark to get a peep, 
At pickanninny 'twont be good 
An' rock hisse'f to sleep ! 

Lay yo' haid on de pillow dere. 

Loo Lee mammy's own, 
De good Lawd keeps you in his care, 

De debbil min's his own ! 

Oh whoo ! oh whoo ! in de 'simmon tree, 

He's comin', shet yo' eyes. 
Oowee, oowee, mah honey! mah honey! 

De debbil's monstrous wise; 
An' ef yo' lays a blinkin' dere. 

He'll get yo' sho's sin, 
I'll drop de latch an' call "oowee" ! 

An' he'll come humoin' in ! 

Lay yo' haid on de pillow dere, 

Loo Lee mammy's own, 
De good Lawd keeps yo' in his care 

De debbil min's his own ! 
24 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

Oh whoo! oh whoo ! beside de well 

I hear him potterin' 'roun, 
Oo'wee ! oowee ! mah honey ! mah honey ! 

Yo' bettah scramble down, 
An' shet yo' eyes tight's yo' kin, 

Else his ol' niggah face, 
'LI come a scrabblin' tru de do' 

An' snatch yo' frum yo' place! 

Lay yo' haid on de pillow dere, 

Loo Lee mammy's own ! 
De good Lawd keeps yo' in his care 

De debbil min's his own ! 

Oh whoo ! oh whoo ! he's goin' off, 

He's tak€n jes' a peep 
Oowee ! oowee ! mah honey ! mah honey ! 

An' foun' yo' fas' asleep. 
He's madder'n tophet case I tol' 

Dat he's a snoopin' 'roun' ; 
But I ain' gwine let him ketch 

De fines' babe in town! 

Sleepm' sof on de pillow dere 

Loo Lee mammy's own, 
De good Lawd keeps yo' in his care, 

De debbil min's his own ! 



25 



WHERE'S A FELLER COIN* TO GO? 

Oh, it's don't go in the parlor, 

'Cause Edith's feller's there; 
And it's don't go in the lib'ry 

Fer Mary'll pull your hair; 
And it's don't s:o in the kitchen — 

The policeman's there, you know. 
And Bridget gets so angry — 

And Where's a boy to go? 



When a feller's got two sisters, 

And the servant girl's in love, 
Most any place'll answer 

A lonesome boy to shove; 
And dad he scolds me awful, 

And says my company's low ; 
But when everybody's courtin' 

Where can a feller go? 



The girls they think I'm awful, 

'Cause I like Tom and Dick, 
And so they call me ''Gummy" 

'Cause I am bound to stick; 
And say at hints and nudges, 

I'm everlastin' slow — 
So nights I'm playin' hookey — 

Fer where's a boy to go? 
26 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



My mother's awful busy, 

A sewin' fer the gfirls. 
And hain't got time to bother 

With a fellers kinks and quirls; 
And dad he goes to lodges, 

And I ain't no one's beau, 
So I'm hangin' 'round the corners — 

Fer Where's a boy to go? 



When I get big, I bet you. 

And have a boy like me, 
He won't go huntin' places, 

He's got a right to be; 
Fer I'll build him just a dandy 

Big sittin' room, you know^ ; 
So's he won't be always askin' 

Where's a feller goin' to go? 



27 



WHEN YOUR HAIR IS THIN ON TOP 

There are some awful sorrows, 

That cut the very quick, 
And they seldom venture singly 

But others follow thick; 
Yet scarce another sorrow 

Can make your courage drop, 
Like the cruel one of finding 
Your 
Hair 
Is 
Thin 
On 
Top! 



You can wear a dingy collar, 

Or coat that isn't whole, 
And know they simply cover 

A brave, determined soul. 
But a thought to make you falter 

Is the one you cannot stop 
You're getting old and seedy — 
When 
Hair 
Is 
Thin 
On 
Top! 

28 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



You say it may be wisdom, 

And tell your grinning friends, 
How over study always, 

A look of ripeness lends ; 
And yet in tearful secret 

You scout the flimsy prop. 
And ruefully admit it. 
Your 
Hair 
Is 
Thin 
On 
Top! 



You brush in vain to hide it. 

And buy the latest dye, 
And every sort of tonic 

With patient hand you try; 
But still the faithful mirror, 

As an anxious face you mop, 
Repeats, there's no denying 
Your 
Hair 
Is 
Thin 
On 
Top! 



Ah me ! no other sorrow, 
In anguish's bitter train, 

Is so inclined to mock you 
With hopes and fancies vain, 

As is the one of finding 

29 



BIRCH LEAVES 



A thinpf you cannot stop; 
This growth of years upon you 
When 
Hair 
Is 
Thin 
On 
Top! 



30 



WHEN THE DOLLARS JINGLE 

When I hear the dollars jingle, 

Don't care what the weather's like ; 
Hain't a mindin' if creation 

Goes off on a labor strike; 
Fer their clink an' clink an' jingle 

Say I've got the best of friends, 
While empty pockets soon'll show you 

Jest where so-called friendship ends. 



When I hear the dollars jingle, 

I can wear a cheerful smile: 
Feelin' sech an independence, 

Even tho' I hain't no style ; 
Fer their clink an' clink an' jingle 

Hes a way of tellin' you 
Folks won't mind yer little failin's 

Long's the dollars' clink is true. 



When I hear the dollars jingle, 

Life's a reg'lar funny joke; 
I can heft most any burden, — 

Fit my neck to anv yoke : 
Fer their dink an' clink an' jingle 

Plays the merriest kind of air, 
'Sif they knew they're jest a cure-all 

Fer sech things as ol' despair! 

31 



BIRCH LEAVES 



When I hear the dollars jinp^le. 

All the world is kind to me; 
Tho' some folks is lookin' crosswise, 

I ain't time their scowls to see ; 
Fer their clink an' clink an' jingle 

Is the thing that makes me know 
The golden calf is what we worship 

Big an' little, here below ! 



32 



SHAKE YO' TOE, MA HONEY 

Go shake yo' toe, mah honey, 

I'se watchin' by de do' 
I neber seed a finer foot 

In all my hfe befo' ; 
It's straighter dan de broomstick. 

An', oh, dat yaller heel 
Is floatin' 'roun' yo' ankle 

Like co'n silk in de fiel' ! 



Hippem ! hippem ! hi ! 

Shake yo' toe an' fly! 

Jig yo' eas' an' jig yo' wes' 

An' jig to one yo' lub de bes' ! 



Now, lif yo' gown, mah honey, 

An' kick high's yo' kin, 
Dem lil' laigs is growin' stiff 

Fer sumfin' limberin'. 
An' scrape de fiddle, Epherman, 

So's we kin see 
De pickaninny's whirlumgigs 

Dat's jes' a-comin' three! 

Hippem ! hippem ! hi ! 
My but she kin fly ! 
Jig it, jig it, see her go! 
Sca'cely techin' on de flo' ! 

33 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Oh, shake dat toe, mah money. 

An' cut de piling wing. 
An' bulge yo' eyes, yo' niggahs — 

Don't dat beat ebery'ting? 
I 'clare to gracious, honey, 

You's boun' to crambulate 
To de bery do' ob fortin 

An' make yo' mammy great! 



Hippem ! hippem ! hi ! 
Glory bye an' bye! 
Hallelujah, see dem flings ! 
Honey's laigs is growin' wings ! 



34 



" KEEP A STIFF UPPER LIP " 

There^s a bit of homely wisdom 

Floating 'round this busy world 
For the weak and sad and helpless 

Who, alas ! are often hurled 
'Gainst the rocks of old Misfortune, 

Off the cape of dark Despair, 
When they fail to gain a foothold 

On the highway anywhere ; 
And it loves to come and tell them. 

As it sees them slide and slip, 
**The man who does the winning 

Keeps a erood stiff upper lip !" 

Ah! it seem a little matter 

To the man on solid ground 
That your legs are knocking under 

And your hands are simply bound 
By the cruel gyves of weakness. 

Wrapped around your quivering frame; 
Though you're working tooth and talons 

To "get there" all the same, 
He'll often kindly tell you 

That you "mustn't lose your grip, 
But must sally forth to battle 

With a good stiff upper lip !" 

There is value in the saying 

And there's value in the fact, 
And there's many times its value 

In just the simple act; 
But I often stop to wonder 

When I hear it glibly said, 

35 



BIRCH LEAVES 



How much there is in knowing 
You have easy paths to tread, 

And can hold the hand of fortune 
And need not fear her whip, 

While you sing and dance beside her 
"With a good stiff upper lip !" 

And oft I wonder further, 

In behalf of him who's down, 
As he watches through the darkness 

For some cherished good to crown 
The effort he is making, 

In the silence and the night, 
If, standing in the doorwav 

In a blaze of welcome light, 
He should chance to see the preachers 

Who give this brilliant "tip" 
Holding out their hands to help him 

"Keep a good stiff upper lip." 

But e'en through all its phases 

That mock our load of care, 
This homely bit of wisdom 

Is a tonic to despair; 
And we need to take it humbly 

As we wander to and fro. 
For the God-man made it holy 

On the cross of long ago ; 
And though we drink the wormwood 

And life's pleasures seldom sip, 
We must still toil on. mv brothers, 

"With a good stiff upoer lip !" 



36 



WHEN THE PARSON COMES TO TEA 

They've got a bran' new parson, 

Since conference, come to town. 
And they say he isn't married. 

And they say his name is Brown, 
And mam has gone to scrubbin'. 

And sis is taffyin' me, 
And dad is studyin' scripter, 

'Fore the parson comes to tea. 



You'd think we lived like heathen 

The way the soap and sand 
Is polishin' up the chair seats 

And makin' things look grand. 
You'd swear that sis's an angel 

If you could only see 
The way she smiles and twitters 

'Fore the parson comes to tea. 

The butt'ry's full of srimcracks, 

We're livin' tho' on bread, 
An' when I steal a cookie 

I get whacked upon the head, 
For mam is mighty savin', 

An' she often says to me: 
"Just wait, my little sonny, 

'Till the parson comes to tea." 

37 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Sis wears her hair in papers, 

And she's got a bran* new gown, 
An' I'll bet you she's expectin* 

To capture Mr. Brown. 
Fer she's sayin' prunes an' prisms 

As perlite as she can be, 
So she won't be makin' blunders 

When the parson comes to tea. 

I see her lookin' sideways 

At "sonny" now and then, 
An' she an' mam were sayin' 

"Some boys are little men;" 
An' I know they're Rrowin' anxious 

'Bout what they'll do with me, 
Fer "sonny" isn't in it 

When the parson comes to tea. 

An' dad'll fix the woodpile 

When the supper table's set, 
An' send me out to whack it 

With the dull old ax, you bet; 
An' Sis'll be triumphant 

Because the way is free 
To show her airs and graces, 

When the parson comes to tea. 

But there's a satisfaction — 

The parson ain't a whale, 
An' can't eat all the fixin's 

In the butt'ry, I'll go bail; 
An' when they've left the table 

I reckon there will be 
A fillin' up of "sonny," 

When the parson comes to tea. 
38 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



An' Sis an' I'll get even — 

I'll tell her so tonight — 
If she doesn't want the parson 

To get a sudden fright, 
An' skip her bloomin* halter, 

She'd better trv to be 
Most awful good to "sonny", 

When the parson comes to tea. 



39 



MAH LIL' SUNSHINE GAL 

Lak a yallah bird a flittin' 

F'um de treetop to de fence 
Perkin' up 'is haid an' whistlin' 

Chunes dat ain't got common sense, 
Case he's jes' a bit ob sunshine 

Wid a froat an' nuffin 'mo', 
Dar's mah Sunshine Gal a singin' 

Out dar by de cabin do' ! 

Pears lak trouble nebber tech huh, 

Haid's so full ob joke an' fun; 
Lawdy ! how she sets me laughin* 

'Twell mah wuk ain't neber done ! 
Ain't no mattah 'bout de weddah, 

Ef it's bright, or ef it's gray. 
She's a streak ob sunshine shinin' 

Jes' huh brightes' all de day! 

Dat's huh whistle, heah it pipin' 

Dem dar cake walk dancin' chunes, 
Lak huh ha'ht wah made ob music 

Mixed up wid a lot o' Junes 
Jes' a bustin' out wid brig^htness 

Dat de Lawd had planted dar, 
'Sif he said, *Mah HI' Sunshine 

Chase dem shadders ebery whar?" 

Eben w'en ol' hoodoo, sickness. 
Hush de laugh, an' still de song. 

She jes' smile an' say: 'Don' bodder 
Dis ol' trouble won' stay long; 

40 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

Sun's a shinin* on de treetops, 

He'll jes' comie a sweepin' down 
Mighty soon, an' ketch de da'kness 

Snoopin' down heah on de groun' !" 

How I lub's mah HI' Sunshine 

Wid huh perky kitten plays, 
Ticklin' me to heah me hollah, 

'Go long wid yo' sassv ways ! 
'Aint yo' got no sense I wondah?" 

Den huh ahms creep 'roun' mah neck, 
Wile she laughs an' says : **I bettah 

Jes' go out an' buy a peck!" 



41 



"CHEER UP, CHEER UP" 

Listen honey! Hear dat robin 

Singin' lak his HI' throat 
Boun' ter split wid all his music 

Hangin' 'roun' dat scrumptious note? 
"Cheer up, cheer up, quit yo' weepin'," 

Robins know a ting or two, 
Tears lak he was guessin' honey, 

Jes' de word ter sing fer you. 



Listen honey! What I tell yo' — 

Clouds dey come, an' clouds dey go. 
Dat dar perky \iV robin 

Hes ter feel de norf win' blow. 
Yet he's singin' lak de mischuf. 

In de ' simmon tree out dar, 
"Cheer up, cheer up ! Hain't no 'quaintance 

Wid yo' hoodoo, ol' despair!" 



Listen honey doan yo' reckon 

Yo' is God's own lil' chile? 
Doan yo' 'spose He'll fotch de sunshine 

Wen yo's had de storm awhile? 
Cain't yo' lif yo' heart a singin' 

Lak dat robin in de tree ; 
"Cheer up, cheer up! God is watchin', 

Watchin' ober yo' and me !" 

42 



WHEN YE'RE COIN* DOWN THE HILL 

There's a lot of fust rate problems 

In life's old 'rithmetic, 
That when ye're young an' hopeful, 

Don't seem too hard, or thick 
Fer yer head tu dare tu tackle, 

Or tu bluff yer heart, or will; 
But they're quite a diff'runt matter 

When ye're goin' down the hill ! 



When ye're climbin' up the mountin' 

There's many a restin' place, 
Fer tu stop when ye git winded, 

Or hev a cross to face; 
But the hobby horse ye're ridin' 

Gits tu buckin' fit to kill. 
When there ain't no way o' stoppin* 

As ye're goin' down the hill ! 



When it's arly in the mornin'. 

An' yer eyes is clear an' bright. 
It don't matter ef it's cloudy. 

An' the sun is out o' sight ; 
Ye kin hope 'twill shine tomorrer, 

As ye tread the daily mill, 
But ye know 'twill soon be sunset, 

When ye're goin' down the hill ! 

43 



BIRCH LEAVES 



The wind is cold an* shiv'ry, 
An' the shadders dark' an' long, — 
Ye wish ye could be youthful 
Once more, an' bi^, an' strong, 

So's tu solve the puzzlin' problems 
That hang aroun' ye still; 

But ye find yer strength is failin' 
When ye' re goin' down the hill! 

Yet the valley's calm an' peaceful. 

An' the problems cease tu be, 
When once ye' reach the bottom 

An' cross the jasper sea; 
An' yer empty cup o' sorrer, 

There is joy enough tu fill, 
Ter pay fer all yer trouble 

When ye're goin' down the hill! 



44 



IN HAYING TIME 

I am livin' in the city with my daughter, Sally Ann, 
Her house's a modern palace on the very latest plan, 
For what with lights electrical, an* window glass of plate, 
An* bells to call a servant maid on every want to wait, 
An' polished floors so awful smooth, you're careful how you 

walk. 
An* telephone to call you up when someone wants to talk. 
Fancy orchids in the greenhouse, an' naked marbles in the hall. 
There ain' a thing that money'll buy, but Sally's got 'em all! 
An' she's most awful good to me, an' dresses me up fine, 
An' gives the folks to understand that I am first in line. 
But somehow 'taint the happiest life this world can give to me. 
Because I wasn't made for show an' often long to be 
The same old pioneer that chopped the wild and rugged way, 
For meadow land that's dotted now with fragrant cocks o' 

hay! 
There's a ne'er forgotten picture that is always in my eyes, 
As if it lay there ready painted on the narrow strip of skies 
I can see from Sally's windows, an' I often list to hear 
The old farm bell a ringin' out it's welcome note o' cheer. 
As it called us in to supper, when the shadows long and fine. 
Made the haycocks into pyramids along the meadow line! 
How the horses sniffed an' snorted when they heard the 

supper bell ! 
An' started for the barnyard in a coltish playin' spell, 
Like they knew the oats were waiting, an' the supper steamin* 

hot, 
"Ma" had piled upon the table was the thing to touch the spot ! 
I can see her standin' smilin' by the supper table there, 

45 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Her apron white an' spotless, not a crinkle in her hair. 

Oh, the picture, how it haunts me all the long and lonesome 

day 
When we used to dot the meadow land with fragrant cocks 

o* hay! 

How the pinies blushed in beauty out there in the garden 

bed, 
While the -phlox that grew beside 'em an* the cinnamon roses 

red 
Spiced the air with waves o' sweetness blown across the 

meadow land, 
When we gathered 'round the table such a laughing jesting 

band ! 
What a supper! Bet a fifty, Sally's **chef' they rave about 
Never cooked a thing to equal all the fixin's "ma" set out; 
Baked potatoes white an' feath'rv goin' with a chicken fry; 
Apple sass and luscious berries, cream an' cookies, cheese an' 

pie. 
An' the cookin' ! Land o' Goshen ! "Ma" was famous miles 

around, 
Lots o' neighbors used to tell me such another wasn't found ! 
When we joked about the fodder, askin' her to name her 

nrice. 
She'd go dishin' out the short cake in a big an' gen'rous slice, 
An' say, she'd "sock it to us heavy," when she got her regular 

pay, 
An' the old red barns was bustin' with the mows o' fragrant 
hay! 

Tears? I know it. Sally's coming? She'll be sure to hunt 

me up, 
Askin' if there's any pleasure she can pour in my old cup. 
Oh, to tell her just to give me back those happy days again 
When I labored poor, but plucky, like a very slave of men I 

46 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

Oh, to see the sun a creepin' over Ogden's woods at dawn, 

See his robe of gold an' crimson in the west when day is 
gone. 

Hear the night owl hoot an' holler out there in the shadowed 
copse, 

See the chickens scoot to cover underneath the poles of 
hops. 

Hear across the dusky pastures Daisy's cowbell tinklin' shrill, 

While the stars come out to westward over there on Mal- 
vern's Hill. 

When the chores have all been finished, see her face within 
the door 

Watching me with smiles that beckon now beyond the fur- 
ther shore; 

Drink again the tender music of mem'ry's words I hear her 
say, 

*Xet me move the old red rocker where you'll smell the new 
mown hay!" 



47 



NOVEMBER 

After Hood 

No leaves upon the naked trees, 

No softness in the wandering breeze, 

No song of birds, no blush of flowers. 

No happy dreams in sunny hours, 

No summer joys, to balance ills, 

No cash with which to pay one's bills, 

No politician's sugary smile, 

No promises, so free erstwhile. 

No chance for "pull," election's o'er, 

No **pap" to heal a heart that's sore. 

No hope of "jobs" with winter here. 

No overcoat, no fire to cheer, 

No happiness, but to remember. 

No gold, no sun, no hope, November! 



48 




BY THE ROADSIDE 



PART TWO 



^ 



A SUMMER'S LEAF 

In changing fashion here are writ 
A word of joy, perchance of grief; 

On fancy's thread they're lightly strunjz: 
And fastened with a summer's leaf. 



BY ROCKAWAY RIVER 

By Rookaway River in Lullaby Town, 
The wonderful sleep flowers grow; 
They are blossoming there o'er buds of down 
With petals as white as snow. 

The petals are lids of Babykin's eyes 

With fringes of curling black, 
And sweetly they bloom when the Sleep king flies 
Over the sunset's track. 

Then rockaway, rockaway, baby mine! 

To Lullaby Town we'll go, 
To watch for the stars that twinkle and shine. 

And see the sleep flowers grow! 

By Rockaway River in County Dream, 

Most wonderful visions arise, 
Out of the beautiful Ocean of Seem, 

To dazzle the watching eyes. 
They lead the way to the Hills of Rest, 

And Babykin follows on 
'Till darkness flees from the silver west 

And the twinkling stars are gone. 

Then rockaway, rockaway, baby blest! 

To County Dream we'll fly, 
And sweetly sleep on the Hills of Rest 

And watch the dreams go by ! 
53 



BIRCH LEAVES 



By Rockaway River in Bedlow state 

In the country of Somnolent, 
Babykin lads and lassies wait 

For gifts by the Sleep kin? sent; 
Bright eyes of blue, and brown and ofray, 

And dimpled cheeks of red, 
Beautiful smiles and laughter gay, 
Are sent by him, 'tis said. 

So rockaway, rockaway, baby mine ! 

To Bedlow state we'll go. 
To welcome the Sleep king's gifts divine, 

And wake with the east aglow ! 



54 



AROUND THE MAY-POLE 

The May-day air is balmy, 

The skv is wondrous blue, 
And little feet are weaving 

A braid of varied hue. 
As ribbons meet and mingle 

At music's rhythmic swing. 
Beneath the flower- decked Maypole 

Where happy children sing. 

Laug"h now, dance now. 

Gaily all the day; 
Bird song, bee song, 

Join the roundelay ; 
For life is but a poem 

This merry, merry May! 

The lilting music trembles 

With breath of ecstacy; 
The children trip to meet it, 

A living symphony 
Of color, form and motion. 

In flowing gown and hair, 
And peals of gurgling laughter 

Across the quivering air. 

Oh, dance now, trip now. 
Light as feather down; 

Fly feet, skip feet, 
Golden heads and brown, 

All around the Maypole, 

The Queen of May to crown! 

55 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Oh, Heaven bends above them, 

With gold and sapphire set; 
Perhaps the baby angels 

Lean o'er its parapet 
And clap their hands with pleasure 

To note how every tone 
Of children's happy laus:hter 

Is music 'round the throne. 

Then laugh now, sing now, 

Chase away the tear; 
High note, sweet note, 

Make it loud and clear; 
Children's happy voices 

Bring sweet Heaven near ! 



56 



THAT AWFUL NOISY BOY 

There's a rattle on the stairway, 

There's drumming on the door. 
There's a tramp like armed thousands 

Along the kitchen floor, 
There's a shrill and piercing whistle, 

And expostulations drown 
In a double shuffle juba 

By the noisiest boy in town! 



For 'tis rattle 
And 'tis battle 
Twixt the silence and the boy, 
And 'tis banging 
And 'tis clanging. 
With overwhelming joy. 
And 'tis, oh, to be as happy 
As that awful noisy boy! 



It is *'pugging" over marbles. 

In a wild and whooping chase. 
As they bang against the doorway 

And scratch the polished base; 
'Tis sending tops a whirring 

To dent the kitchen floor, 
And drumming with the poker 

"McGinty o'er and o'er." 

57 



BIRCH LEAVES 



For 'tis rattle 
And 'tis battle, 
'Twixt the silence and the boy. 
And 'tis banking- 
And 'tis clanging-, 
With overwhelming joy. 
And 'tis, oh, to stop the clangor 
Of that awful noisy boy ! 

You can always tell 'tis morning 

The way the rafters shake. 
With the rat-a-tat and tumble 

Of the boy that's just awake; 
You can hear him half the distance 

I fancy, toward the moon, 
W^hen his shrill and piercing whistle 

Is tackling some old tune. 

For 'tis rattle 
And 'tis battle 
'Twixt the silence and the boy, 
And 'tis clanging 
And 'tis banging. 
With overwhelming joy. 
And I shall soon go crazy 
With that awful noisy boy! 

Yet I tremble lest the silence. 
Having now so little chance. 
Shall some time come a-weaving 

Its awful, lonely trance, 
And leave me ever listening 

For dancing steps to drown 
The bitter sweet of longing 
For the noisiest boy in town. 
58 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



ThouRh 'tis rattle 
And 'tis battle, 
'Twixt the silence and the boy, 
Though 'tis banking 
And 'tis clanging, 
With overwhelming joy, 
Just let me always keep him, 
That awful noisy boy! 



59 



THE LAND OF MAKE BELIEVE 

Come cuddle your head on my bosom, dear, 

And the swing of the rocking chair 

Shall take us away, from the prose of the day. 

To a land that is wondious fair. 

We'll go to the land of Make Believe 

Across by the path of Dreams, 

Where glories rise, to the sun-kissed skies, 

And nothing is, but seems. 



Oh, a wonderful land is Make Believe, 

With its capital city, Bliss. 

Reared by the art of the longing heart, 

For a throne, a crown or a kiss! 

'Tis a glorious ride by the path of Dreams 

To the land of Make Believe, 

By the cave Regret, o'er the hills Forget, 

And the lone, white city. Grieve. 



Its bridges of thought are light as air, 
And lighter the feet that cross. 
To wander there from the city of Care, 
In the desolate land of Loss. 
The paths of light that thread it through 
Are made of the cobwebs fine 
That fancy weaves from her golden sheaves, 
Or a rainbow's radiant line. 
60 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

An answered wish is on every tree, 

And every wind that blows 

Bears on its wings the very things 

The heart's entreaty knows. 

You can't imagine a thing my dear, 

When once in the magical land, 

But quicker than light traverses night, 

It flies to your eager hand. 

There are dancing dollies for you, my dear, 

That vision hath never seen 

They laugh and jest with exuberant zest, 

And walk like a stage-struck queen. 

Their gossamer robes of filmy lace. 

Untouched by hand or loom. 

And the woven gleams of angels' dreams. 

And the ether's azure bloom. 

For the older folks that travel there 

Is many a happy stage. 

The fount of Youth, by the well of Truth, 

And the buried specter, Age. 

The beautiful things of earth and life, 

And Memory's glowing gems. 

In profusion sweet, lie at their feet. 

Or glitter in diadems. 

The love they loist in the city of Care, 
The kisses that vanished away. 
On the battle plain, of the land of Pain 
When life was cold and gray; 
The riches that took such sudden wings, 
The grave that snatched their all, 
The power and fame they used to claim 
Before misfortune's fall. 
61 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Are gathered here in this radiant land, 

Forever theirs alone, 

And none can say a somber "Nay" 

To treasures they call their own. 

They are king and queen in Make Believe, 

TheyVe but to will to be, 

And the sad old earth has a roseate birth 

In the heart of their ecstasy. 

Though you and I are sorrowful, dear, 

When days are dark and cold, 

Let's wander there, from the city of Care, 

And look for the fairies' gold; 

We'll away, away by the path of Dreams, 

And the lone, white city, Grieve. 

By the cave Regret, o'er the hills Forget, 

To the land of Make Believe, 



62 



THE WHITE BRIGADE 

Let them prate about the bravery 

Of blue coats, or of gray, 
And the glory hovering o'er him 

Who's foremost in the fray; 
There's none among the nations, 

Tho' Cossack, Briton, Hun, 
Chattanooga's famous hero, 

Or Austerlitz well won. 
Who can equal me in grandeur, 

Or boast the rare delight. 
That is mine when through the sunset 

The purple clouds of night 
Drop down upon the gloaming, 

A veil of deep'ning shade, 
And I hear the footsteps patter. 

Of my merry white brigade. 

For I'm the greatest general 

In all this land of fame — 
I'm not so very noted, 

And don't boast a wondrous name — 
But I'll venture half my fortune. 

Which is not so verv large. 
That in all the famous battles 

There was never such a charge 
As we make upon the pillows, 

When the tricksy Sprite of Sleep 
With the curved and silken lashes 

Of my soldiers plays bo-peep! 
63 



BIRCH LEAVES 



They're not so great in numbers, 

Nor so very great in power, 
But they're worth a hundred millions. 

Or a royal princess* dower. 
And I often start in terror, 

As my heart grows half afraid, 
That I shall sometime lose them — 

My lovely white brigade! 

How they charge upon the stairway, 

In their long and snowwhite coats. 
While clear upon the zephyrs 

Their merry laughter floats, 
And they scarce obey my orders, 

As I give them here and there, 
With the most austere of voices. 

That is lost upon the air. 

Their *'arms" are white and dimpled. 

Their bayonet a kiss. 
And they often turn upon me 

And stab me with its bliss. 
They rumple up my collar, 

My hair they tumble down, 
Regardless of my protests. 

Unmindful of my frown. 
And though so brave a general, 

I'm sometimes half afraid, 
I've a lawless lot of soldiers 

In this little white brigade! 

How many of them are there? 

I suppose there are but two, 
But I sometimes think a hundred 

Have been loosed to dare and do; 
64 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



For in the eyes of Donald, 

My loving little man. 
Lives the veriest imp of mischief 

That ever led a van; 
And the laughter loving dimples 

Of my wise and winsome Fay, 
Reflects him as a mirror 

Reflects the light of day. 

Ah me! the tears are falling; 

The years will slip away, 
And Donald, still a soldier, 

Will be borne into the fray 
And Fay a woman's portion — 

To work and wait and weep — 
Will find her sweetest treasures 

No longer hers to keep, 
While I shall then be sitting 

In the lonely evening shade. 
To long with bitter longing 

For my Httle white brigade! 



65 



YANKEE DOODLE 

Yankee Doodle! Down the street 

The band comes tripping fine, sir. 
The leader's cheeks are red as fire, 

His eyes with glee ashine, sir. 
He wears a cap of paper gilt, 

His tunic is of blue, sir,- 
You cannot find a man of five 

With eyes that are as true, sir! 

Yankee doodle, doodle, doo, 

Yankee doodle, dandy : 
I lift my skirts and trip it, too, 

In any step comes handy. 

Yankee Doodle plays the horn. 

And, my! he makes it ring, sir! 
The very dogs espouse his cause 

And set themselves to sing, sir ! 
The drum is beaten on behind 

All by a man of three sir. 
Ah! Many a league you'll go to find 

A finer man than he, sir! 

Yankee doodle, doodle, doo, 

Yankee doodle, dandy — 
Bring your pocket-books to view 

And eet your pennies handy! 

66 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

Miss Yellow Hair supports the flag 

In rather shaky way, sir, 
But you'll forget it when you see 

Her smiles and dimples pla}, sir! 
Your heart will match the beaten drum 

And throb a pit-a-pat, sir. 
And then 'twill jump right out your breast 

And at her feet lie flat, sir. 

Yankee doodle, doodle, doo, 

Yankee doodle, dandy! 
Her heart and smiles and dimples, too 

Are won by sticks o* candy ! 

Yankee Doodle! What a band 

Of beauty, brawn and brain, sir ! 
I long to go again to war 

And lead the valorous train, sir. 
Such bravery as they display 

Such music as they make, sir, 
Would make old age forsret his stick 

And give his toe a shake, sir! 

Yankee doodle, doodle, doo, 

Yankee doodle, dandy! 
Forget your age and trip it, too, 

With anything comes handy! 



67 



PINNY, PINNY, POPPY SHOW 

*Tinny, pinny, poppy show ! 
Give me a pin and I'll let you know." 
Two bright eyes upturned to mine 
With eagerness of bargain shine ; 
Two dimpled hands the secret hide 
By rose- red lips so loudly cried ; 
The heavy price I quickly pay 
And gaze upon the queer array. 

*Tinny, pinny, poppy show!" 
The little maid is all aglow 
With happiness, as fast she hies 
About the room to show her prize. 
While I with eagerness made bold 
Her fairy form restrain and hold ; 
I clasp her close and feel my heart 
With youthful fancies nevly start. 

"Pinny pinny, poppy show — 
I love, I love, I love you so !" 
My eager thought goes out to meet 
Her Hsping jingle, doubly sweet. 
Because a winsome woman's grace 
Is stamped upon her childish face, 
And memory brings the long ago 
And hides it in the popoy show. 
68 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

'Tinny, pinny, poppy show, 
Give me a kiss and 1*11 let you go!** 
I say the jingle, thrilled anew 
With tender eyes, lost eyes of blue ; 
She struggles, yields and pays the price, 
The while she lisps with instinct nice, 
"No gentleman would want to know 
At such a price my poppy show !" 



69 



" FOR 1 LOVE YOU " 

**Eenie-meenie-cockle-show, 
You-are-first-and-out-you-go ; 
Rimmer-zimmer-red-and-blue, 
You-stay-in-for-I-love-you." 

A tiny maid with flying hair. 
Sparkling eyes and skirts a flare. 
Says the rhyme, 
Staccato time, 

While a lad before her stands, 
Waiting tap of dimpled hands 
To know his doom, to go, or stay 
'*Out" or "in" the pretty play! 

Maiden mine with sunny hair, 
Eyes that sparkle, lips that dare, 
Say the rhyme 
To lovers' time, 

To the swain, who waiting stands, 
Hoping he may clasp your hands ; — 
"Rimmer-zimmer-sweet-and-true, 
You-stay-in-for-I-love-you !" 



70 



LITTLE TENDER HEART 

Little Tender Heart is quite a man: 

High white choker, gay cravat, 
Meeting me upon the street, 

Gracefully he doffs his hat. 
Hair well plastered, gloves au fait, 

Clothing rather spic and span, 
Yet I turn and walk away. 

Grieving for my little man! 

Little Tender Heart and I have grown 

Into love that binds us so. 
Scarcely can I bear to see 

Boyhood into manhood grow; 
Fearing all the tender faith 

Binding him in trust to me 
Will in manhood be a wraith 

Mocking joys of memory. 

Little Tender Heart may wander far — 

Far from dreams of guileless truth, 
Far to realms where sin may bar 

All but memories of youth; 
Should the sins of manhood stain 

Purity of act, or creed. 
Could I bear the dagger's pain 

Making every heart throb bleed? 

71 



BIRCH LEAVES 

Little Tender Heart, for love of you 

I would bid the years be still, 
Keeping you forever true, 

Far away from paths of ill; 
But the test of manhood lies, 

Bravely fighting sin and wrong. 
May the truth in your sweet eyes 

Always keep you brave and strong! 



72 



DOLLY BOOTS 

Dolly Boots is fair to see, 
Ah, how fair she is to me ! 
Every dimple is a kiss 
Left by Cupid, hit or miss, 
Cheek or chin, or chubby arm. 
Dimples could'nt Dolly harm. 

Dolly Boots has sunny hair, 
Floating on the amorous air; 
Eyes that twinkle like a dance 
Of elfin feet in every glance. 
Lips that smile in hisrh distain 
When her favor I would gain ! 

Dolly Boots has dainty feet. 
Clad in red morroco sweet. 
And she tippytoes and flirts, 
Fluff of lace on snowy skirts. 
While the way she whirls and bows 
Banishes ascetic vows ! 

Dolly Boots has such a smile, 
Tender, touching, free from guile, 
When she wills It ; but, you see, 
Seldom has she smiles for me ; 
Oftener she sends a frown 
Dancing from her eyes of brown ! 

73 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Dolly Boots, a sad coquette 
I sometimes fear she is. and yet 
When I bow my head and cry, 
Dimpled hands will softly try 
To lift it up and leave a kiss 
Curative of balm of bliss ! 

Dolly Boots is warm of heart. 
Skilled in love's entrancing art ; 
Smiles and frowns in equal play, 
Chase each other all the day ; 
But when night creeps on apace. 
Smiles alone light Dolly's face. 

Dolly Boots is tired, you see, 
Far too tired to torture me; 
Generous of all her charms 
Close she creeps within my arms, 
While she sets my heart awhirl 
Softly lisping, *'I'se your dirl." 



74 



THREE HEADS OF TOW 

My days are long and late with toil, 

My hands as hard as horn. 
And poverty the haunting shade 

That laughs my hope to scorn. 
But istill I smile with holy joy 

At love, who holds the cable 
That binds to me three heads of tow 

Above my frugal table. 

When morning greets the silver dawn 

With lancet gleams of gold, 
I lift my heart in thankful praise 

For all my cup doth hold. 
For there across the snowy cloth, 

With love serene and stable, 
I smile upon three heads of tow 

Above the breakfast table. 



When noontide flings her sultry heat 

O'er all the country side. 
And wearily I seek my home — 

What pleasures there abide; 
For just above the snowy cloth 

Like Argus' eyes in fable. 
Three pairs of eyes look baby wise 

Above the dinner table! 

75 



BIRCH LEAVES 



When evening calls her shadows home, 

And tucks them safe in bed. 
Beneath the starry coverlet 

That Mother Night doth spread, 
I likewise gather in the brood 

Beneath my humble gable, 
And smile to see three heads of tow 

Above the supper table. 

Oh, ye who search for happiness 

In money, power and pride, 
You little know the joys that wait 

Where little children bide 
For all the paltry gains of earth 

Must wear a pinchbeck label 
Beside the gold in heads of tow 

Above my breakfast table! 



76 



TRIOLETS TO MILDRED 

When I beg for a kiss, 
Like a beggar, indeed, 

And long for the bliss, 

When I beg for a kiss 

That she never would miss. 
Ah! toO' vainly I plead 

When I beg for a kiss 
Like a beggar indeed! 

Like a mendicant friar, 
When I boiw at the shrine 

With a wealth of desire, 

Like a mendicant friar, 

I beg, and ne'er tire 

For the kiss that is mine; 

Like a mendicant friar 
When I bow at the shrine ! 

When I turn from the shrine 
With the tears in my eyes. 

There ils some thing divine 

When I turn from the shrine; 

For her kiss it is mine 
In a glow of surprise. 

When I turn from the shrine 
With the tears in my eyes ! 

77 



MISS FLYAWAY FUDGE 

Miss Flyaway Fudge peeks in at the door 

Heigho ! for eyes that are bright ; 
Her lithe, little legs flit over the floor — 
Heigho; she's off in a fright; 

With a hop, and a prance, 

And a flya>way dance, 
In a fluff of white skirts, hip, skip 

In her Irish-gray eyes, 

A saucy surprise, 
And the reddest of rose on her lip. 

Miss Flyaway Fudge has a head of soft curls. 

Heigho! for the golden brown 
In the chestnut locks as she daintily whirls, — 
Heis^ho! for the mimic frown. 

And the pert little word. 

Like the peck of a bird. 
And the mischievous look that dares 

You out of your place, 

In bewildering chase, 
'Till caught in her well-laid snares. 

Miss Flyaway Fudge has a pair of white hands 

Heigho ! for the dimples there ; 
Unless you i^re pleased to regard her demands,- 
Heigho 'tis best to beware — 
And yet I defy 
One glance of her eye, 
Not to leave you the humblest of slaves; 
Her smile is so bright 
You love her despite 
The very worst way she behaves. 
78 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 



Miss Flyaway Fudp^e has a laugh that is g^ay, 

Heigho ! how merry it rings ; 
'Tis the airiest note in the scale of the day, 
Heigho ! for its silvery strings ; 
It bubbles and trills 
In rhythmical rills, 
Like a brook that is dashinsr along, 
And watching her smile 
You forget for the while 
That anything ever goes wrong. 

Miss Flyaway Fudge has a warm little heart, 

Heigho ! but isn*t she sweet, 
When twilight and daylight lingering part? 
Heigho! for the tired little feet. 

As with tenderest care, 

She climbs to my chair. 
And whispers demurely to me, 

''\ 'uves oo a heap. 

Now wock me to s'eep. 
An' I will be dood as tan be." 



79 



THE LITTLE FACE AGAINST THE PANE 

What though Hfe is full of trouble, 

In its strife for daily bread, 
And oft we say in bitter murmurs : 

Happy only are the dead. 
Yet I find in life a pleasure 

Naught can ever render vain, 
While I see each night and morning 

A little face against the pane ! 

When I say "Goodbye" at morning, 

When I cry "Hello" at night. 
First and last upon my vision 

Lingers long the lovely sight; 
Baby hands, so sweet and dimpled 

Throwing kisses, I retain 
In my heart, beside the pictured 

Little face against the pane ! 

Oft I hear her calling "Papa" 

Half way down the block may be. 
While her loving accents linger 

In my ears to comfort me. 
All the day of toil and trouble, 

Helping heart, and hope sustain. 
Simply with the joy of loving 

The little face against the pane ! 
80 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Ah, no cup of earth can equal 

For its purity, and bliss, 
The nectared wine that thrills my bein^ 

In my baby's tender kiss: 
Which, like dew upon the roses, 

All day on my lips has lain. 
And at ni^ht I know there's waiting 

A little face against the pane ! 



81 



MY OWN FIRESIDE 

You may talk about the progress 

The world has made of late 
In every path of science, 

From little up to great, 
And boast of lights electric. 

And houses warmed by steam, 
ril discount all your grandeur 

In my firelight's cozy gleam. 
As it dances and it glances, 

In a human sort of glee, 
O'er the faces and the places 

Of the fireside dear to me. 

'Tis humble. Til acknowledge, 

Old fashioned, out of date, 
Not anything within it 

Can boast of pomp or state; 
And if you judge a mortal 

By elegance or gold 
Pass on — my little fireside 

No charms for you can hold, 
For it glimmers and it shimmers 

On faces proud to see 
The lightening and the brightening 

Of the fireside dear to me! 

Outside 'tis cold and stormy, 

The wind is in a roar. 
We lau^h, and pile the fuel 

On flames that cry for more, 
And gather 'round the ingle. 

Our feet upon the grate 

82 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



To enjoy the homely blessings 
That on our footsteps wait; 

While the fire is creeping higher 
For joys that seem to be 

Always gleaming in the beaming 
Of the fireside dear to me! 

O earth so sad and lonely! 

O men, who toil and reap; 
O wretched want and hunger! 

avarice's guarded heap ! 
Where'er your pathways border 

1 would that you could know 
The simple joys that greet me 

Within my firelight's glow; 
For its glancing and its dancing 

Are wide as wide can be, 
'Tis measure of life's pleasure — 

This fireside dear to me ! 



83 



ARE THE BOYS ALL IN ? 

When the twiHght shadows gather 

Up and down the dusky street, 
And the city's noise of traffic, 

With the tramp of passing feet, 
Slowly dies to just a murmur 

Of its former clang and din, 
Memory hears my mother askinp^, 

''Are the boys all in?" 



When the lights begin to glimmer 

Like a thousiand pairs of eyes, 
Searchinpr out the ways of darkness 

Of the worm that never dies, 
And almost on every corner 

Are its agencies of sin. 
Oft' I think I hear her asking, 

"Are the boys all in?" 



Far from home and all its pleasures 

Tired feet have sadly strayed ; 
Graves of love, and graves of plenty, 

Sexton Time has grimly made; 
But the tender tones of mother 

Oft my recollection win. 
As I hear her softly asking 

"Are the boys all in?" 
84 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Long ago, God found in Heaven 

Need for still a brighter star, 
And across the sea of ether 

Called my mother from afar; 
But her light for me is shining 

Yet across the ways of sin ; 
Some day I shall hear her asking, 

**Are the boys all in?" 



85 



■ KEEPING COMPANY " WITH*,SUE 

Out there in the summer twilight 

In the hush of the golden eve, 
They, in their youth and beauty 

Their rosy fancies weave; 
And life turns back in transport 

To youth's enchanted view 
When I, like the lad out yonder, 

*'Kept company" with Sue. 

They look on the sunset burning 

A path for the feet of night, 
With eyes that are half unseeing, 

Because of the inner sight. 
That wakes alone in the morning. 

In visions fond, and new. 
While I, from the path of sunset 

"Kept company" with Sue. 

There's frost on my head, and teardrops 

Run down my furrowed cheek, 
As I strain my ears to listen 

To catch the words they speak; 
For they seem to bring me nearer 

To joy that once I knew 
When youth, and I together 

"Kept company" with Sue. 

86 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



I wonder if they*re feeling, 

These days that seem so strange, 
The same old steadfast passion 

That ne'er knew doubt or change; 
And held us one, forever, 

In bondage firm and true. 
When I, a callow stripling 

**Kept company" with Sue. 

Oh the old, old days of beauty. 

I thrill at thought of them; 
For life is a broken blossom 

Hung to a broken stem; 
And out of the past, the pleasures 

I hold are very few, 
While with the youth and maiden, 

I "keep company" with Sue. 



87 



THE KIND OF GIRL FOR ME 

The kind of a girl for me 

Is the girl with a tender tone, 
That rings beneath her spoken words 

A music all its own; 
She may be rich, and handsome, 

She may be plain, and poor. 
But this gentle tone is beauty's own 

And will through life endure. 

'ihe kind of a girl for me 

Is the one with willing hand, 
Who always makes the brightest link 

In every household band; 
She may be wise, and learned. 

Untaught of books may be, 
But the willing hand is the jeweled band 

That decks the girl for me. 

The kind of a girl for me 

Is the one with the loving heart; 
Who sees where sorrow presses hard 

And tries to heal the smart; 
She may in manners shine, 

In polish lack, may be ; 
But the loving heart, when tear drops' start 

Will dower her well for me ! 

86 



IN APPLE-PICKING TIME 

I never see an August sun, 

And mellow haze along the plain, 
And hear the crickets* lonesome chirp, 

And watch the brassy skies for rain; 
But out of all the long- gone past. 

My youth comes back in joyful prime 
When days like these foretold the wealth 

Of autumn's apple-picking time ! 

The streamlet's lazy tinkle o'er 

Its pebbly bed, now but rill ; 
The thistle downs that idly float 

And wander at the zephyr's will; 
The silent birds among the trees. 

The distant cow-bells tinkling rhyme. 
Are 'round me as I live again 

In autumn's apole-picking time! 

Again I walk with beating heart 

The fragrant apple scented aisles, 
Where underneath the spreading boughs 

Sweet Jenny stands with dimpling smiles; 
Her apron stretched to catch the spoils, 

As up the tree I quickly climb, 
To match her crimson checks, and fail, 

In autumn's apple-picking time! 

89 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Sweet eyes that dance and dance again, 

Sweet lips that play at hide and seek 
With fleeting dimples, as I gaze 

'Till courage falters, faint and weak; 
Alas ! alas ! with years lonqr gone, 

Ye come from memory's sunny clime, 
To mock the days that sadly breathe 

Of autumn's apple-picking time. 



90 



THE LITTLE SERVICE 

Oh, 'tis just the little service 

We render day by day, 
The kindly things, and thoughtful. 

The tender words we say, 
That make life worth the living 

Though sorrow haunts the way. 

If youVe a word of pity, 

Or a handclasp soft, and true, 

Or a cup of sparkling water. 
For the thirsty, give it, do; 

'Twill all come back in blessings 
Again for yours and you. 

Be not afraid and grudging 
The word of praise to speak; 

Of the smile to soothe the weary, 
The hand to help the weak; 

For they are always waiting 
Though they do not seem to seek. 

Oh, 'tis just the little service, 

Along the rocky road, 
The ready hand of helping 

With the over toppling load. 
That makes us feel that Heaven 

Is oft' on earth bestowed! 

91 



THE LOVER'S STRATAGEM 

Sweet Dorothy has won my heart, 
But I fear she doesn't know it, 

And I am plagued to death to know 
Just how I'm going to show it. 

Go tell her? What? Those dancing eyes 

Engage in Cupid's battle? 
She'd send me flying down the rear 

With laughter's drum and rattle. 

A coward? Well — ^but Dorothy 

Has ammunition plenty, 
To kill with her bewitching smile 

Some dozen men, or twenty. 

If but in Lapland's charming paths 

I wandered vainly sighing, 
A club would bring my lady love 

In mute subjection lying. 

But here where "liberty's" the vogue, 

With every sort of woman, 
I scarcely dare to own a heart, 

Or e'en admit I'm human. 

For Dorothy despises **love" 

She says I ought to know it — 

Yet somehow all her tender smiles 
But seldom seem to show it. 

92 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

I'll tell you what I'll do to prove — 

Her woman's independence — 
I much mistake if love and I 
Are not in quick attendance, 

I'll take a mouse with me tonight 

And when she's most provoking 
I'll let the little rodent loose 

To do some ardent joking. 

And then a scream, and Dorothy- 
Is in my arms '^protected," 

And I have snatched a hurried kiss. 
By protests unaffected. 

And while that "horrid mouse" doth scout 

Her woman's independence, 
I'll make her own she really needs 

My strong right arm's attendance. 



93 



• TWILL ^ALL COME RIGHT JN THE^MORNING 

'Twill all come right in the morning; 

There's never a night so black. 
But following after the shadows. 

The sun is on its track; 
And whatever there is of sorrow, 

And hatred's bitter scorning, 
We have no need to borrow — 

'Twill all come risfht in the morning. 

'Twill all come right in the morning; 

'Tis hard I know to rest 
Under the lies, and malice 

By foes so oft expressed; 
But keep to your humble duty. 

Nor answer hatred's scorning, 
And touched with a subtile beauty, 

'Twill all come right in the morning. 

'Twill all come right in the morning; 

For sorrow each must learn. 
And the braver we are in bearing 

The finer the joy we earn ; 
And whether we win, or falter. 

Or fight with churlish scorning, 
This fact we can not alter, 

'Twill all come right in the morning. 
94 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

'Twill all come ri^ht in the morning; 

For ever the truth will rise; 
And ever the coward error, 

Before her coming flies ; 
So whatever there is of trouble, 

Or falsehood's cruel scorning. 
When justice pricks the bubble, 

'Twill all come right in the morning. 



95 



MY REAL ESTAFE 

I've noticed that the value. 

Often placed upon a man. 
Is very largely measured 

By an artificial plan 
Which reckons up his acres 

And sets the seal, at once, 
Of value on the broadest 

Be the owner sage, or dunce. 

And often, as I ponder 

On things that mortals prize. 
And seek a way to favor. 

In the world's distrustful eyes, 
I'm reminded that the louder 

You boast of real estate. 
The more the world is ready 

To count you good and great. 

Although a modest person 

And somewhat prone to feel 
The merit that's within us 

Itself will soon reveal ; 
And always countinq- boasting 

Against good taste a sin. 
I'll have to SAvallow scruples 

If favor I would win ; 

% 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

And tell my lofty neighbors 

Of the real estate I own, 
The marble homes around it, 

The great ones I have known, 
Who dwell within the portals 
And wait to welcome me. 
To take my place among them 

In days that are to be. 

And when IVe won the favor 

That calls me good and great, 
I'll chuckle at the value 

They place on real estate; 
For though it is a secret, 

I'll tell it, dear to you, 
The real estate Fm vaunting 

Is only *'six feet, two!" 



97 



SOME DAY WHEN I SHALL DIE 

(With Apologies to Ben King) 

Some day when I shall die, 
And on my lifeless clay the world shall gaze, 
And speak, as people do, in words of praise, 

Some day when I shall die. 
And say: "We always knew his native worth, 
How sad he's passed so soon from earth," 

I may arise with wonder in my eyes, 

And gasp in keen surprise! 

Some day when I shall die, 
And gathered 'round the somber funeral bier 
Someone shall speak and think I do not hear, 

Some day when I shall die,* 
And say: ''So well he wrought e're life was sped, 
Let justice bind the bay around his head." 

I may arise, I say, and gasp: 
"Give me some bread !" 



98 



THE PROOF 

Once on a time two cunning rogues, 
With theft their sole vocation, 

Laid scheme to swear each other free 
Should justice make occasion. 

One stole a goose, and sorry fate, 

Was quickly apprehended. 
"Fear not," the other bravelv said, 

"By me ye'U be defended." 

Next day in court he roundly swore. 

In voluble confession, 
That, since 'twas gosling, small and green. 

The goose was his possession. 

Acquitted, well the cunning rogues 
Their scheming wit applauded. 

And straightway of a cherished gun 
A victim soon defrauded. 

But justice in her watchful way 
The second thief arrested. 
"Now never mind," the first one said, 
'This trouble's easy breasted." 

To court he hied him, nothinor loath, 

To try his wit at swearing, 
And bring upon the doubtful case 

His confrere's cunning bearing. 

99 



BIRCH LEAVES 

And thus he swore, in meaning clear 
As ever gleamed in crystal, 

"The gun was his through all the years 
Since it was first a pistol !" 



100 



MY ROSE OF PROVENCE 

There's a glare of light in the opera house, 
The fitter of gems, and the odor of flowers ; 

And the donna's voice has a plaintive thrill 
That wakens a thought of vanished hours. 



I am sittincr beside my regal bride, 
Regal with beauty, and crowned with gold; 

Envied of men for the prize I won, 
The power and position I seem to hold. 



For I was poor, and her father's clerk; 

But the mischievous weaver of charm and spell 
Threw over her eyes his filmy threads, 

And into his net drew me as well. 



How the donna's voice rings out tonight 

With an undertone that stabs my heart, 
'Till over the gulfs of time and place 
Remembrance leaps with eager start. 



I am back once more in my sunny France, 
I have eyes for none, my Rose, but you. 

And I see you smile with the old time glance 
As I solemnly siwear to be always true! 

lot 



BIRCH LEAVES 



You will never know I keep my oath 
In a heart that is sore with keen regret; 

That I starve for the light of your love lit eyes, 
And the touch of the lips I can ne'er forget. 



I have sold myself, as men will sell 
Their souls to the demon of power and place ; 

But O, tonight I would give it all 
For just a glimpse of your perfect face! 



102 



CAPTAIN PHILIP, OF THE TEXAS 

When the murderous guns of the Texas 

Volleyed their thunderous fire, 
And wrought on the ships of the Spaniards 

Destruction appalling, and dire, 
'Till they sank in the swirl of the waters 

In a whirl of agonized fear, 
Philip called out to his gunners, 

''The poor devils are dying; don't cheer." 

Then hushed were the shouts of the sailors 

Victorious over the foe, 
To a merciful triumph of pity 

Only the bravest may know; 
First on the chaplet of honor 

Philip, thy name shall appear, 
For the mercy and manhood that ordered, 

"The poor devils are dying; don't cheer," 

Down through the ages shall echo 

The words of the man and his name, 
Who has given to war and its terrors 

A star in the trophies of fame; 
For over the thunders of battle. 

Like bugle notes echoing clear, 
Shall speak for America's manhood 

"The poor devils are dying; don't cheer." 

103 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Awake, then awake to thy mission, 

America, conqueror, brave. 
Give savagery o'er to the S|>aniard 

And cruelty leave to the knave; 
When Right shall need thy assistance. 

The nations that listen may hear, 
We never shall gloat o*er the fallen, 

"The poor devils are dying; don't cheer." 



104 



A SONG OF THE CHURN 

Under the hillside's verdured edge. 

The moss-grown milk house stands, 
Cool and sweet as the crystal pledge, 

In the milkmaid's sinewy hands, 
As she dips it up, with her bright tin cup, 

From the spring in the stone-paved floor, 
And with Hebe's grace in her laughing face 

Refills it o'er and o'er. 

I drink and drink, unsatisfied, 

My eyes above the brim; 
The while I watched her graceful poise 

And figure neat and trim, 
A homespun goddess beating out 

With rhythmic swing and clash. 
The butter's song from the wooden chum 

In bubble, swirl and splash. 

Splash! splash! splash! 

The creamy cataracts dash! 
Spatters of cream have kissed 

The dimpled arm and wrist, 
And I in fancy's dream 

Am envying the cream! 
With thrifty housewife's heedful care 

Within the churn she looks, 
And I, intent on reading there 

A lore unwrit in books, 
105 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Bend low to meet, in contact sweet. 

Her head above the churn; 
Her eyes and mine with meaning shine 

And faces flush and burn. 
I gaze and gaze, unsatisfied, 

My eyes above the brim. 
The while her fingers clean and sweet. 

The golden globules skim. 
We grasp the dasher hand o'er hand, 

And beat and swing and clash 
A churning song to love's refrain 

In bubble, swirl and splash! 



Splash! splash! splash! 
The creamy cataracts dash! 
Her hand beneath my own 
Has something warmer grown. 
Her cheek is like the rose, 
The dasher slower grows. 

Thump ! thump ! thump ! 
The butter's golden lump, 
A yellow island kist 
By milky seas of mist. 
Proclaims the churning done. 
And hands that clasp as one 
Unclasp and fall apart 
With overconscious start. 



O golden age, and golden days ! 

And golden butter churned 
By the rosy lass, whose tender ways 

Have taught me all I learned 
Of love that lies in woman's eyes 
106 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



I pledge in memory's wine, 
For still beside the autumn's tide 

Her hand is clasping mine. 
I gaze and gaze, unsatisfied, 

The horizon's growing dim, 
But still her fingers sweet and clean 

My golden moments skim. 
We grasp the dasher as of old 

In rhythmic swing and clash. 
And beat the butter's olden song 

In bubble, swirl and splash! 

Splash! splash! splash! 
The creamy cataracts dash 
On autumn's radiant day 
Just as they did in May! 

Thump! thump! thump! 
The butter's golden lump, 
A yellow island kist 
By milky seas of mist, 
Proclaims the churning done. 
And hands that clasp as one 
Shall never fall apart 



107 



THE BLUE MIST ON THE HILLS 

The blue mist on the hills today 

Is autumn'3 tinted veil, 
To hide her blushes as she greets 

Sweet summer growing pale ; 
And hears the plover's lonesome cry, 

And whistling pipe of quail, 

The blue mist on the hills today 
Against the shimmering sky, 

Picks out the meadows gold and green. 
And waters dimpling by; 

To make a jeweled coronet. 
To flash before the eye. 

The blue mist on the hills today 

Folds softly o'er the land. 
Against it lift the fronded tops 

Of forest giants grand ; 
While 'round their feet the golden grain 

Encircles like a band. 

The blue mist on the hills today 

Foretells the tinted hour, 
When summer lingering by the way. 

Must lose each bud and flower. 
To find them bloom again at touch 

Of the frost-king's wondrous power! 



THE ANGEL OF MY HEART 

When the twilight gathers lonely, and I sit within the gloom, 
As the flickering firelight chases the shadows 'round the room, 
There often comes to meet me from the land where fencies 

start, 
A sweet and blessed presence — the angel of my heart 

She comes and sits beside me, and I clasp her hand in mine. 
My pulses thrill and tremble with a love that seems divine. 
As I clasp her close and hold her 'till the world slips out of 

sight, 
And hand in hand together we walk the realms of light. 

Whatever is the fairest in this poor heart of mine — 
As bees extract the honey from the roses' garnered wine, — 
She draws with gentle glances that lead me like a prayer, 
To follow in her footsteps the pathway of the air. 

Wherever crime is rampart, wherever pain and woe, 
Lift up the heads of suffering with look that all men know, 
She bids me bend to soothe them, she bids me wipe their tears, 
And gather up the remnants of the ravelled web of years, 
To weave them in a garment that is wholesome, fair and pure, 
With the strength there is in hoping and the courage to 
endure. 

And oft' when most I need her, when my path seems over- 
grown 
With follies and temptations my wayward life has known, 

109 



BIRCH LEAVES 



And I long with ceaseless longing for joys that once were 

mine, 
Oh then in gentle pity I can feel her glances shine 
Upon my bended spirit, and I rise refreshed to say, 
I will be strong and faithful howeVe so dark the way. 



Oh rare and radiant angel I know thou'rt but a dream ! 

And yet, so real and potent thy ministrations seem, 

That when across the river with Charon I shall go, 

I shall look to see thee stand against the morning's glow. 

And there the first to greet me, the first to take my hand, 

And lead me through the pastures of that sweet and peaceful 

land, 
With a blissful sense of rapture that we never more need 

part, 
I shall clasp thee close forever, thou angel of my heart! 



1 10 



MORNING GLORIES 

When the bright October mornings 
Bring the cool and frosty air, 

Then it is the morning glories, 
Newer beauty seem to wear ! 



Dew and sunshine, moon and zephyr, 
*^^ Mixed by chemistry unseen, 
Fill each leaf with dye aboundingr 
In a richer, darker green! 



Deeper grows each tint, and fuller 
Wider grows each fragile cup, 

Lifted skyward, for the nectar 
Every petal drinketh up! 



Until noontide, often sunset. 
Sway the blossoms, full and fair. 

Do they whisper, souls groiW richer 
Like themselves in autumn air! 



BLOWING BUBBLES 

We were blowing bubbles, Sally and I 
From the self-same pipe of clay; 

And we watched them sail in their airy flight 
And named them on their way. 



There was one for gold, and one for fame. 

And one for love, and truth. 
And each as it left the empty bowl 

Was a symbol of life, and youth. 



Which lingered longest in upper air, 

The fate of each would be; 
There were plenty to sail with gold and fame 

But none with love for me. 



My face grew dark, as I sadly said, 

** 'Tis plain, unloved I go;" 
But she softly whispered, with downcast head, 

"They're only bubbles, you know!" 



112 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Oh the lazy, hazy summer, 

In blush of Indian red, 
Song of thrush in the meadow, 

Glimmer of blue o'erhead; 
Rustle of leaf, and whisper 

Of winds in the mottled trees — 
Was ever a year's old beauty 

Richer than days like these? 

Oh the yellow, mellow summer, 

Warm as a baby's kiss. 
Thrilling and filling the being 

With nature's nectared bliss. 
And the skill of the frost at even 

Plying his wondrous spell — 
Was ever an artist living 

Who painted a robe as well ? 

Oh the dancing, glancing summer, 

Queen of the autumn time, 
With life like a bit of music 

Set to a ringing rhyme ; 
Calling of quail, and falling 

Of nuts in a ripened shower. 
Was ever a chorus sweeter 

Or chanted with faller power? 



113 



THE HAND UPON THE SHOULDER 

'Tis the hand upon the shoulder 

That counts when you are down ; 
'Tis the eyes that beam with kindness 

Despite misfortune's frown; 
'Tis the hand upon the shoulder, 

And the hearty word of cheer, 
That give you strength to conquer 

The fiends of doubt and fear ! 



'Tis the hand upon the shoulder 

When you're feeling sad and weak, 
And the world is dead against you 

And life seems bare and bleak; 
*Tis the hand upon the shoulder. 

That warms your fainting heart; 
And makes the tears of blessing 

From smarting eyeballs start! 



*Tis the hand upon the shoulder. 

When your foes look coldly on 
While you sadly cover over 

The graves of friendships gone; 
*Tis the hand upon the shoulder, 

When you stand bereft and lone 
That sets your pulses throbbing 

With a music all their own ! 
114 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



*Tis the hand upon the shoulder, 

When everything seems lost, 
And you realize the manhood 

Despair had nearly cost; 
'Tis the hand upon the shoulder, 

That makes you feel again 
The tingling wine of courage 

Renew your faith in men! 



*Tis the hand upon the shoulder. 

Thank God ! that it is there 
Sometimes to lift the fallen. 

From the quagmires of despair. 
'Tis the hand upon the shoulder, 

That storms the rugged hight 
With the re-embattled soldiers 

Who had faltered in the fight! 



115 



WHEN THE COWS GO TRAILING HOMEWARD 

Oh, the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the bosky deeps of wood. 
When the buoyant summer dances 

In her radiant womanhood. 
And the cows go trailing homeward 

To the music of a bell 
On the neck of dainty Daisy 

Slowly treading down the dell! 



Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tink — 
Now the cows have stopped to drink. 
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tank — 
Through the marshy meadows dank. 
Up the hillside, down the lane, 
Daisy's leading all the train. 



Oh, the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

How it calls my childhood back. 
When across the fragrant meadows, 

Through the woodland's beaten track, 
Oft I drove them trailing homeward 

To the music of a bell, 
Beating out the treble octaves 

Held in music's rhythmic swell ! 
116 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tink — 
On the river's pebbly brink. 
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tank — 
Up the shelving willow bank, 
Through the meadow, down the lane, 
Memory drives the haltinig train. 



Oh, the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

Lingering, loitering by the gate. 
Wondering oft with many blushes 

Whether someone will be lati, 
While the cows go trailing homeward 

To the music of a bell. 
Softly singing tender fancies 

Someone never dared to tell! 



Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tink — 
Hope and love are on the brink. 
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tank — 
Honest eyes so clear and frank, 
Throusrh the meadow, down the lane, 
Someone drives the scattered train. 



Oh, the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. 

Life is long and youth is past, 
Could but joy and love forever 

All its sorrow still outlast. 
When the cows go trailing homeward 

To the music of a bell, 
I would deem its rhythmic octaves 

Keyed above a Patti's snell ! 
117 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tink — 
Memory trembles on the brink, 
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tank — 
Shadows wait across the bank, 
Through the meadow, down the lane, 
I no more shall drive the train 1 



118 



MOTHER'S CIDER APPLE SAUCE 

When October's winds are sighing 

In among the blushing leaves, 
And mournfully the crows are cawing 

'Round about the gathered sheaves. 
Purple mists are on the hilltops, 

And milkweed shakes her silky floss, 
'Tis then my thoughts go roaming backward 

To mother's cider apple sauce! 



Once again I hear the partridge 

Drum across the orchard rows. 
Where beneath their stately splendor 

Many a red'ning apple shows! 
Once again I watch the sunlight 

Quiver, gleam and glance across 
The bubbling pot that I am stirring 

Of mother's cider apple sauce! 



Years have vanished long and many. 

Time has woven light and shade 
As a web around the pictures 

Memory has deftly made; 
But the one I fondly cherish, 

Still redeemed from blight or loss, 
Is the fun we had in making 

Mother's cider apple sauce ! 
119 



BIRCH LEAVES 



How we gathered, peeled and quartered 

"Greenings," "Spitzenbergs'* and ''Spies!" 
How we watched the cider bubble 

When the flames began to rise 
'Round the shining copper kettle — 

'Neath the rod that swung across 
Between the straight and stalwart ''exes" — 

Full of mother's apple sauce! 

Ah ! how red and sweet and mellow 

Grew the apples in the stream 
Of boiling juice that slowly filtered 

Through the autumn's amber gleam, 
While we watched the wooden ladel, 

Like an earthquake, rive and toss 
In crimson heaps of honeyed sweetness 

Mother's cider apple sauce! 

When the sun, a ball of crimson, 

Slowly sank beyond the west. 
And frosty airs across the meadows 

Touched the appetite with zest, 
'Round the supper table gathered 

Boys and girls pronounced it "boss !" 
And smiled at mother's rosy blushes 

When we praised her apple sauce ! 

Scattered now and widely sundered 

Each and all; the homestead sold. 
Mother sleeps upon the hillside 

Crowned today with autumn's gold. 
But when over field and fallow 

Golden-rod and aster toss, 
Oft I dream of boyhood's pleasures. 

When we made the apple sauce! 
120 



BEHIND HER FAN 

Behind her fan she glanced at me; 
In her sweet eyes I could but see 
A truth, I scarcely dared to guess 
Might some day come my life to bless 
And make it all it fain would be ! 

That tender glance can never flee 
The lovelit halls of memory; 
So much, so much it dared confess 
Behind her fan. 

Though others bend the supple knee 
Before her fan, all pleadingly, 
Whatever their charms of face, or dress, 
They find their prayers but emptiness, 
Because she smiled so tenderly. 

Behind her fan ! 



121 



CAN DOLLY DANCE ? 

Can Dolly dance? Can zephyrs blow 
The trembling leaflets to and fro? 
Can velvet roses, crimson drest 
Their languorous sweetness on the breast 
Distill against their bed of snow ? 

Can lapping waves in numbers flow ? 

Your question must be half a jest — 
Can fireflies dart and gleam and glow? 
Can Dolly dance? 

Could you but watch the mimic show, 

That Dolly doth, on me bestow, 
And see her graceful steps attest 
That beauty ceases here her quest 

You would not need to ask I know, 
Can Dolly dance? 



122 



" THANK YOU," SHE SAYS 

"Thank you," she says with modest air. 

And blushing face divinely fair, 
The while my eyes intently trace 
Within her smile the tender grace 

Of deeper meaning hidden there. 

I know, I feel, yet I despair 
And wonder, vaguely, if I dare 
Imprint a kiss upon her face 
Who "Thank you" says ! 

Ah, who would not good taste forswear 
Such loveliness to win and wear? 
And venturing all in time and place 
Know Heaven's bliss for just a space. 
While inwardly he breathes the prayer, 
She *'Thank you" says? 



123 



IF ONLY 

If only out of sunrise land 
Could come for just a space, 

To scatter wealth with willing hand, 
Fair Fortune's smiling face; 

How happy, happy I would be, 

O scowling visaged poverty! 

If only o'er the hills of dream 
Could come the siren Fame, 

To lend her glow to things that seem 
And give to hope a name; 

How happy, happy I would grow, 

O days that now but longing know! 

If only o'er the whispering sea. 
Could come my ship of state 

O'er bounding waves to carry me 
To ancient lands and great 

How happy, happy it would seem, 

O heart, sad heart no more to dream! 

If only through the ether's blue. 
Could come my Inve of old, 

With clasping arms and smile I knew, 
I'd scorn both fame and gold. 

And happy, happy I would be 

O love my love with naught but thee! 



124 



THE SLEEVE 

Sweet Kate and I a sleighinpf went 

In cold and snappy weather, 
Yet what recked we of cold or storm 

So we were but together? 
Like Ariel, across the snow, 

The horse was swiftly flying, 
But somewhere down among the robes 

I thous^ht sweet Kate was sighing. 

"What is it Kate?" I quickly cried, 

And tucked the robes around her, 
While midst a host of tender words 

My thoughts began tO' flounder, 
"Oh, I'm so cold, I'll surely freeze, 

I can't stand it a minute." 
"Then take my sleeve, 'twill keep you warm 

Because my arm is in it!" 

The wind it blew a bitter blast, 

And urged me to be bolder. 
The sleeve went round the slender waist 

Her head fell on my shoulder, 
And though 'twas cold, Kate grew as warm 

And happy as a linnet. 
With just a sleeve around her waist 

Because my arm was in it! 



125 



THE MEED OF FAME 

The master was threshing his good gold grain, 
("Oh, thresh me my sheaf," she cried; 

"I have garnered it here in sorrow and pain.") 
"Pass on; the way is wide!" 

The master was swinging the heavy flail. 

("Oh, beat out my bread of life: 
My little ones hunger without avail") 

"Pass on; there's naught but strife!" 

The master was sifting the chaff from wheat. 

("Oh, look at this rounded head; 
I gleaned it out of my own heart beat!") 

"Pass on, pass on," he said. 

The master was viewing his ^fathered grain. 

("Oh, take my sheaf!" she cried; 
"Sweet love is dead and life is vain!") 

"Now enter, unsatisfied !" 



126 




A BIRCH OPENING 



PART THREE \ 



PRESSED FOR MEMORY 

Within the Book of Time we place 

Sometimes with smiles, sometimes with tears. 

Like leaves of long ago, the thoughts 
We fain would keep in coming years. 



MY FIRST GRAY HAIR 

My first gray hair! A isilver thread 
'Mong chestnut curls it lay. 

I gazed upon the mirrored head 
And sadly turned away. 

A sudden shadow crossed the day; 

I felt benumbed and cold; 
Did that false mirror mean to say 

That I am growing old? 

I gazed again. Ah, there it lay, 

A silvery, snaky thing, 
That tried to frighten youth away, 

And make my hopes take wing. 

What, old? And only just at school; 

The alphabet unlearned. 
While playing still the courtier's fool 

To laurels yet unearned? 

It cannot be! 'Tis only light 

Among the shadows fine. 
And frightened fancy fears the night 

Is in that silvery line ! 

I still am young! My spirits leap 

As blithely as of old ; 
Not yet does time a miser creep 

Among his days of gold. 

131 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Not yet have love and friendship ceased 
To sing their siren strain; 

Not yet ambition has released 
A single clanking chain. 

Not yet do dreams and visions die. 

In purple-lipped despair. 
Along the west the rainbows lie 

In robes of ambient air. 

And on her dancing feet I see 

The silver sandals shine 
Of Hope, who whispers still to me 

In accents most divine. 

Go to ! thou hair of ancient gray ! 

I know thee not, forsooth, 
And tho' I know thou'rt come to stay 

To mock the dreams of youth 

I'll say thou art old wisdoms* sign 

That study planted there; 
Or grant mayhap thou'rt just a line 

That's writ by carking care. 

But age! No, no, I'll vanquish thee, 

And never know thy face. 
Dare not, dare not to whisper me, 

I'm in thy cold embrace. 



132 



TOO LATE 

Of all the words that touch the heart, 

With cold, relentless fear, 
None bears through life so sad a part. 

Or chills the listening ear. 
Like these that bury unused days, 

When chance refused to wait. 
And man upon their coffin lays 

The bitter words, "Too late!" 



Youth sees the moments flitting by, 

Nor heeds the mocking hand. 
That beckons where they fade and die 

By hope^s receding strand; 
And oft with finger on the latch, 
. That opens Heayen's gate. 
Their hidden meaning fails to catch 
'Till time has sighed, "Too late!" 



Age moans beside the ebbing sea. 

With sharpened backward glance. 
The things he failed to do, and be, 

When time was one with chance; 
And begs in vain a day of grace 

Wherein to re-create 
The joy that yielded sorrow place 

E're justice cried, "Too late!" 

133 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Oh, hearts that ache, and ache in vain 

With real, or fancied wrong, 
Across the barren plains of pain 

We hear the olden song. 
The restless moments come and go. 

The messengers of fate, 
Reach out, and grasp them e'er you know 

These saddest words, "Too late!" 



IN DANGER 

As one who sees upon a dangerous height, 
Another pass along uncertain ways, 
And knows the gulf where waiting death betrays 

Unsteadiness of step, or faltering sight, 

And longs to gain the eagle's power of flight 
To cleave the air, and bid him pause, and gaze, 
So I, O friend of unforgotten days 

Behold thee bearing onward toward the night ! 

I stretch to thee my hand — a feeble hand. 
But yet the spirit hath its eagle wings 

To fly to thee; O canst thou understand 
That love abides within its offerings? 

The love that angels oft to mortals give. 

Which sternly bids thee pause, and look and live! 



134 



OCTOBER DAYS 

O'er mottled fields of autumn land 
The purple mist wreaths shiver, 

And down through ruddy summach boughs 
The golden sunbeams quiver. 

Upon the hilltop's sharpened crest, 
I watch the listless creeping 

Of elfin fingers softly clothe 
Fair nature for her sleeping. 

I see them turn with dainty press, 

The maples golden yellow, 
And subtly leave their blood-red kiss 

On backgrounds faint and mellow. 

Above the landscape cloud banks bans:. 
In soft snow masses drifting, 

With now and then the ether's blue 
Their opaque whiteness rifting. 

The idle winds go idly by, 
Among the branches sighing, 

Till wooed and won, on fickle breasts 
The fluttering leaves are lying. 

Within the wood's deep silences 

The nuts are thickly falling 
While faint and low, a bird's soft note 

Its wandered mate is calling. 

135 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Oh, autumn days! Oh, beauteous earth! 

Oh, nature's pain-kissed sweetness! 
Thy beauty waits the frost king's power. 

Ere knowing full completeness. 

Then hush, oh, heart! Be still and learn! 

The fuller sense of duty 
Weaves round the barren rocks of life, 

God's perfected beauty; 

And ever lives this sculptured truth 

Beside earth's incompleteness — 
The royal peace of love and life 
Is earned through sorrow's sweetness. 



A NEW LEAF 

Like one who stands upon a mountain peak. 
And sees the paths his weary feet have traced. 
With deep'ning shadows swiftly overlaced. 

To find some further height he yet must seek. 

So I, aghast, footsore, and strangely weak, 
Behold the years in swift procession haste 
Adown the past, whose record uneffaced 

Must sometime all its sin and sorrow speak. 

While still the further height, my pilgrim feet, 
Must climb to gain the longed for boon of rest, 

Oh Angel Year, with new born graces sweet, 
Write down upon thv leaf this fond request, 

Bid strength, and patience, make the page so fair. 

The past shall be forgotten in its prayer! 
136 



THE BEGGAR'S RICHES 

I watch the lace-like clouds that pass 

Above the tree tops branching green; 
I see the daisy- spangled grass 

O'er spread with devv^'s prismatic sheen, 
I hear the choral chant of birds. 

The cadenced hum of eager bee, 
Across the brook the lowing herds 

Their swelling tones send up to me. 

The spider weaves me filmy lace, 

The sun makes opals gleam in dew, 
The fragrant zephyrs kiss my face, 

From roses flushed a ruby hue. 
The berry trembles on its stem 

With just as ripe a blush for me. 
As if I wore a diadem, 

And boasted pomp and heraldry. 

The sea, the air, the sky are mine. 

No king can claim more wide domain, 
Or boast a sweeter flavored wine 

Than I in nature's cup attain. 
My rags may brush his silken gown, 

For when we meet on God's estate, 
The dainties offered king and clown 

Are served upon the self same plate. 

137 



OLD FRIENDS ARE BEST 

**01d friends are best," he said, and sighed 

As anguish clutched his heart. 
When time had shown the barren way 

From love and truth apart; 
For well he knew the bitter words, 

"Too late," that folly sings. 
When creeping in the hearts of men 

She poisons as she stings ! 

"Old friends are best," he said, ''Oh time, 

Unroll the scroll of yore, 
And write me down the olden days 

Of love's delight once more ; 
The grave shall hide me, e're I lose 

The love that once I gave 
To her, who reached the gentle hand 

Too late alas, to save." 

"Old friends are best," oh, sad, sad words, 

When hearts are lone and sore, 
And vainly long to pluck the bloom 

Of days that come no more! 
I list their echo in my heart 

Above the bleak wind's cry 
And send across the lonely years 

A retrospective sigh. 

138 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

"Old friends are best," why not the new? 

Whose hands are warm and firm? 
What magic lies within the old. 

To quicken friendship's germ? 
I cannot tell, but this I know. 

Old friends, old friends are best. 
And when the evening shadows fall, 

I long for them, and rest ! 



139 



" I LOVE YOU n 

Where'er I go, on land or sea, 

This thought is mine to comfort me. 
Nor chance, nor loss, nor space, nor time 

Can separate your soul from mine, 
And ages hence as time shall roll 

Shall only weld us soul to soul; 
And though our hands shall clasp no more. 

These tender words I syllable o'er 
*1 love — I love — I love you." 

O years that reach the backward hand 

Across the barren desert sand. 
Between my youth and this sad day. 

Bend low to hear me while I say. 
No day has passed, no day will come 

That finds my aching heart grown dumb 
To faith that speaks beyond all death, 

These vital words of heavenly breath, 
**I love — I love — I love you." 

Amidst the shadows on my way. 

No midnight dims this one bright ray; 
Above the jar and fret of life. 

Above its sordidness and strife. 
This thought of you, and you alone 

Keeps tottering reason on its throne 
And oft I hear midst falling tears. 

Your dear voice say, through long gone years, 
*'I love — I love — I love you." 

140 



THE OLD SETTEE 

Amidst the garret's rubbish hid. 

As here I chance to roam, 
I find the old settee that graced 

My great-grandmother's home. 

A long and low backed rocking chair. 
With rockers short and thick, 

And step in front to hold the feet, 
Natfght but a brittle stick. 

The paint is worn, the spindles out, 

The seat is hollowed thin. 
And o'er its faded cushioned back 

The cunning spiders spiru 

With reverent awe I drag it forth 

And seat myself thereon. 
And ponder o'er the pageantry 

Of days forever gone. 

The ivory minature that hangs 

Within the cabinet 
Portrays a quaker matron's cap 

And kerchief stiffly set. 

With tender eyes of meltini;^ blue, 

And face divinely fair, 
And mouth where kisses loved to hide 

And lie in ambush there. 

141 



BIRCH LEAVES 



In fancy's glass I see her sit, 
Erect and prim and straight, 

Upon this old settee that stands 
Before the fire in state. 

The sanded floor, the burnished hearth, 

The glowing backlog's glare. 
The andiron's gleaming heads of brass 

That speak her wifely care. 

The high, ungainly mantel set. 
With plates of old Delft blue; 

The branching: candlesticks that stand 
Beside the vase of rue. 

The kettle steaming on the hob. 

The house cat purring near 
Her kniting needles' rapid dance, 

I see through many a year. 

And wish this old settee could speak, 

As backward still I glance, 
And tell me all I want to know 

Of grandmamma's romance ! 

A quaker maiden born and bred. 

In simple, quiet ways, 
I know those eyes of hers reveal 

More than her garb portrays. 

The snowy kerchief stiffly set 

Across her bosom's swell, 
Ne'er matched the heart that oft beneath 

So wildly rose and fell. 

142 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Andi I, her child, though far removed, 

Lean on her old settee, 
And wish her spirit, j^rave and wise, 

Could come to comfort me. 

I lean to kiss her mirrored face. 

In sympathy untold. 
For I, like her, a secret bear 

The grave alone may hold. 

Oh, grandmamma of olden days. 
How close our pathways lean; 

Your heart of fire relives in mine, 
Though lifetimes roll between ! 

I charge the self-same battlefields, 

I pay the self-same fee. 
To pain that holds us both in leash 

Upon the old settee! 

Within the garret dim I sit. 

While you, before the fire 
Of long ago, the battle waged, 

'Twixt duty and desire. 

And here, while tears are falling fast, 

I pray that I may be 
As brave a heroine as you, 

Upon the old settee! 



143 



" GRANDMA " 

Oh, memcry, lone memory, 

Crowd back the passing years. 
And bring again the sweet, sweet face 

I only see through tears ; 
The silken puffs of snowy hair, 

The tender smiling face, 
Whereon the firelight cast the rose 

Of youth's remembered grace. 
As she knits, and knits, and falls asleep, 

And wakens with a start. 
And smiles, and knits, and sleeps again, 

Her tender lips apart 

Oh, bring again the gracious days. 

That knew her presence here. 
The tender thoughtfulness that cast 

O'er life its rose-hued cheer; 
The love that found with busy hands 

No minute's emptiness, 
But spent itself with prayerful thought 

In finding ways to bless; 
Oh, let me see her knit, and knit, 

The smile upon her face. 
That seemed to make the ingle nook 

A love enchanted place ! 



144 



A WOMAN'S HEART 

A puzzling thing is a woman's !ieart. 

And oft, as I sit and ponder, 
I set old tales and creeds at naught 

In a maze of dreams and wonder. 

The lesser man, she is surely not, 

Whate're the old tradition; 
That God created an after thought, 

A second-hand edition. 

"Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone" — 

Thus runs the olden story 
Yet God has fashioned her His own 

And mantled her with glory. 

Man is a law unto himself. 

Holding the brimming measure — 
Whate're the garner of love, or pelf — 

The meed of well earned pleasure. 

But self forgetting, woman's all 

She finds in love's compassion, 
And heeds the fickle vagrant's call 

In strange and abject fashion. 

Through pain, and scars, and blight, and loss 

In endless limitation, 
She bears the lily branded cross 

Of Calvary's consecration ! 

145 



BIRCH LEAVES 

No hell of earth so dark and deep, 
Her love will not devine it ; 

And round a lost love fondly creep 
To shelter and entwine it! 

And so I say of God a part, 
Evangel of true living. 

He filled her bosom with His heart 
To spend it in forgiving! 



146 



FORGETFULNESS 

If, in the viewless haunts of time, 

Some gift of fortune, treasured there 

In garnered fulness, might be mine, 
In answer to entreating: prayer, 

I scarce could claim a boon to bless 
To equal thine — Forgetfulness! 

A haunting shadow sups with me. 
To greet the morning's glad surprise, 

With only sense of misery 

And bitter meaning in its eyes; 

Alas ! I cannot seek red. ess 
Except in thee — Forgetfulness ! 

The summer suns may rise and set. 
And blossomed fragrance fill the air, 

I see thro' tears, nor can forget 
That ever hovering wraith of care; 

Though sorrow makes the sunshine less. 
They're one with thee — Forgetfulness ! 

Each heart must know its day of grief, 
All earthly things must fade and die, 

Remembrance brings perchance relief. 
Or bitterness of tear and sigh; 

But me, no other boon can bless 
Alike to thee, — Forgetfulness ! 
147 



" GRANDPA " 

Daily I see him pass, 

Silvered the hair on his brow; 
Bent with the weight of years, 

The shoulders unburdened now. 
His hands behind him clasped, 

In clasp that seems to meet 
A hand, whose tender touch 

He longs from the past to greet! 



The smile on his lips is sweet 

With the sunset glow of years; 
The look in his eyes is calm. 

Untouched by long-shed tears, 
A link 'twixt heaven and earth. 

Serene he goes his way, 
Giving to clouded souls 

Glimpse of a fairer day! 



Often I ponder long. 

On the nook he calls his own — 
Have children about his knees 

From the home nest long since flown? 
Is *'grandpa" the patron saint 

Of infantile joys and pains? 
And counting the smiles he gives 

Whose are the richer gains? 

148 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Oh, hair of silvered snow, 

And eyes of patient trust, 
Beside thy golden years 

Our own are but as dust. 
For thou hast the lesson learned. 

And thou alone canst teach. 
Where the treasure of treasures lies 

For which we vainly reach ! 



TO A BUTTERFLY IN NOVEMBER 

Oh pallid phantom of a joyous summer day 
That vaguely trembles on my window pane. 
Dost lift thy heavy lidded eyes in vain 
To catch the westering sun's endearing ray? 
Dost sigh for odorous breaths that idly play 
Their sweet enchantment o'er the damask rose 
Upon whose glowing breast thou might'st repose 
And lull thy fears in dreams of blooming May? 



Alas! Thou art the idle sport of Fate, 

And winter's blast shalt rudely smite thee down. 

Yet not alone dost thou find all too late 

Thou might'st have worn the summer's golden crown. 

Like thee I lingering watch the waning light. 

As swift the shadows rise of destined night! 



149 



ALWAYS SILENCE 

Dear, it is always silence. 

I stretch my hand to thee. 
The radiant glance of thy sweet eyes 

Within my soul I see; 
But if I speak thy precious name 

It meets but empty air, 
Dear, it is always silence, 

Silence everywhere. 



Dear, it is always silence. 

Not thus it used to be, 
When thou and I together dwelt 

In soulful sympathy; 
But now when shadows darkly fall. 
And cold the evening^ air, 
Dear, it is always silence, 

Silence everywhere. 



Dear, it is always silence, 

Can thy pure spirit see 
How fails my ever-longing heart 

In constant need oJ thee? 
And seeing, dear, is there no way 

Between the here and there? 
Dear, it is always silence. 

Silence everywhere. 

150 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 

Dear, is it always silence 

Beyond the silver sea? 
Across the bars of heavenly space 

Can no thought come to me? 
Oh, whisper down the ether's aisles 

A word that still you care; 
For, dear, it is always silence, 

Silence everywhere. 



THE LOST DAY 

As with a pulse of passionless delight 
Tells o'er her beads some meek and saintly nun. 
So I the listless slipping one, by one 
Of each calm day and star refulgent night, 
But still, oh Time, tho' all thy days were bright 

As houris' dreams beneath an Orient sun, 
Turn back thy loom, there is a thread undone 
Thou dost not weave the pattern yet aright! 

Put back thy hand to grasp a day I lost 
It lies so wan beside its sister days — 

The ransom of a heart that fatal losing cost, 
And on its olden splendor let me gaze! 

Oh, weaver stern! I kneel and plead in vain, 
My lost, lost day thou will not give again ! 



131 



IN OLD LOVE 

I went today along the path 

Where twenty years ago, 
Dear love, we wandered hand in hand. 

Beneath the sunset's glow. 
'Twas autumn then, 'tis autumn now, 

But spring was in our hearts, 
And love and life upon our stage 

Were playing brilliant parts. 

I stepped within the covered bridge, 

'Tis falling in decay, 
And mosses cling along its edge 

And deck the arching way. 
I stood and gazed through twenty years 

Upon that autumn time, 
When eyes that thrilled with heaven's fire 

Were seeking soul in mine. 

I drank again the wine of bliss 

You pressed upon my lips, 
I saw as then your hand in mine. 

The world in dark eclipse. 
Your smile was all the sun I asked 

To light the rose-hued way 
Along which love, and you and I 

Together, walked that day. 
152 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 

I knew so well your heart and mine 

Were halves of one great whole, 
Wrought out in ages past to be 

A strongly welded soul, 
That moves serene and steadfast through 

The trivial storms of life, 
And dares with flashing eve to breast 

The battle's fiercest strife. 

Alas, how weakly you and I 

Apart have borne the fray — 
A straggler in the army's rear 

I wandered there today. 
A lonely woman, heart and soul; 

Through all these twenty years, 
Uplifting prayerful hands to plead 

For sunshine through my tears ! 

The pall of silence covers you — 

I know not if you care. 
How full of thorns m^y tear-bought crown, 

How rough the cross I bear; 
I know not if you sometimes feel 

The paths that led apart 
Have narrower grown with hope and zeal 

And blossom less in heart. 

But this I know ; we missed the way 

Our feet might then have trod, 
I might have led vou nearer peace 

And you led nearer God; 
For let the world say what it will, 

There comes a bitter day 
When outraged love will have its own 

Despite cold reason's sway. 
153 



BIRCH LEAVES 



And so, dear heart, aloiT^ the path 

Of twenty years ago 
I wandered 'neath the bridp^e today 

In love's sweet afterglow, 
And wondered if you ever dream 

Of that far autumn time, 
When eyes that thrilled with heaven's fire 

Were seeking soul in mine. 



OH HUNGERING HEART 

Oh hungering heart! What soothing draught distilled 
From new made sweets can ease thy cry of pain, 
Since Fortune mocks thy prayers with cold disdain, 
Nor gives again the wine of life she spilled? 
The broken cup, alas ! was never filled, 
A joy it lacked, but are all joys in vain 
Because of one that's lost? Does none remain 
To keep thy plaint of passionate hungerings stilled? 
Ah, yes ! live o'er and o'er again, oh heart, 
Thy feast of old ; the rapturous glance of eyes 
That answered love in thine ; tho' worlds apart 
Thou still canst banquet on the old replies, 
Howe're so bare the future yet may be 
The past shall give a sumptuous feast to thee ! 



154 



YOUTH AND I 

Youth and I have parted; 
Youth was gay with hope, 
I was worn with sorrow. 
Youth saw golden dreams 
In every bright tomorrow, 
I looked often back 
Upon our flower strewn track. 
And when we reached the crest 
Of the hilltop, looking west. 
Youth and I have parted; 

Youth and I have parted; 
Youth believed in love, 
I knew love was grieving 
Beautiful, and sweet, 
Changeful, and deceiving; 
Youth was eager, bold 

And I — a trembling hold 

Upon his restless hand — 

Could only feebly stand, 
So youth and I, we parted! 

Youth and I have parted : 
Youth was glad to go, 
And I am well content — 
Life is so much calmer 
Since away he went, 
All the restless yearnings, 

All the old time burnings 

Of feverish desires. 

Have quenched their fitful fires, 
Since youth and I have parted ! 

155 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Youth and I have parted; 
Youth is far away, 
But on the westward slope, 
Where glints the evening sun, 
I once more welcome hope. 
And faith is close beside me, 

With hand outstretched to guide me. 

Where shadows darkly close, 

Above earth's last repose, 
When life and I have parted ! 



COMPANIONSHIP 

The hungriest hunger a mortal can feel 

Is that which the depths of his being reveal; 

For often it starts at a word or a breath 

With a longing as keen as the poniard of death! 

Deny it who will, the need to be known 

By another whose need is deep as his own, 

Who answers each thought, comprehends in advance 

The wealth of a word the soul of a glance; 

Whose presence evokes at its magic behest 

What is highest within him, divinest and best, 

Whose absence is loss no other can fill 

The half soul seeking its other half still, 

Of all the longings which life can bestow, 

This is the sharpest a mortal may know! 



156 



A DREAM OF FAME 

The book from out the reader's slender clasp 
In silence fell upon her lap. The tale 
Was old, as old as legends of the kingly Christ 
The world would not receive, because, forsooth, 
He came in no array of sceptered pomp ; 
And dimly shadowed forth the untold pain 
That lurked within a Homer's peerless soul, 
As, unacknowledged, still he fought his way 
To those Olympian heights he owned and crowned. 
Upon the page a Goldsmith's smiles and tears 
Betrayed the ghastly hand of want, above 
The rose red wreath he strove to twine with laugh 
And song, around the early emptied cup 
That held his days. 

And still the visions passed, 

The pale and blinded Milton lived again. 

The dreary hours, that all too oft had stript 

From sweet conception of an angel's mighty thought, 

The bud and bloom of fancy's fragile growth. 

And left the barren tree to bend beneath 

The blast of adverse fortune's storms. With him 

There came a goodly train of fellowship. 

In Butler, Otway, Steele, and lesser lights 

Innumerable; for each had felt the pangs 

Of hunger gnaw, until the spirit bowed 

Beneath its abject load, forgot its dreams 

And sank, a wounded bird, to rise no more 

To sing a dull-eared world its tuneful notes. 

157 



BIRCH LEAVES 



The maiden lived, as who has not, in awe 
Of these immortal minds, who a^es past 
Adown the aisles of times still send the truths 
A sneering world once coldly counted dross. 
While musing thus — on what of fond desire 
These lonsring ones unanswered found, or what 
Of bitter dashing 'gainst the stubborn rocks 
Of prejudice, and jealous hate, or what 
Of fierce despair, or burning love, or pale 
And ghastly beckoning of hopes that led 
Adown the sad decline of life — she passed 
Into the land of dreams. 

Before her rose 

The massive walls of Fame's imperial court 

Upon a purole dais sat enthroned 

Her mighty judges — rich in all her gifts 

Of genius, gold, and earthly power — and there 

Deliberate council held on those who sought 

To dwell serenely in her royal smile. 

Before them borne upon the wavering wind 

The myriad voices murmuring rose and fell, 

Of those who clamored at her gates, and . begged 

The right of entrance. Theirs by right of need 

Of effort made in face of hunger, woe 

And want, by right of tenderness, and grace 

Of sympathy with starving multitudes. 

Up rose amongst the judges then, the one 
Revered by all, whose words the shining gold 
Of wisdom bore, and pityingly he spake : 

''Decrees of Art are changeless. Ye who hope 
To win undying Fame's attendant good, 
Must first untold, untaught, the secret find 
Whence comes the soulful fire that burns alone 

158 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 



For him who reads her subtle mysteries. 

Or, from the crucible of life and pain, 

Evolve some hidden power whose conscious Rain 

Shall strike your lyres with more accustomed touch. 

Ye struggling" multitudes, upon the wheel 

Of agony, relentless crush your hopes, 

Nor seek again the temple's courts, till time 

Your follies proves, or furnace tries your gold." 



Abashed they turned away with tears and sighs. 
And ever backward cast the yearning look — 
Save one, who lingering still beside the gates 
Besought with eager hand and voice, a sign 
Of recognition. Crowned with youth and faith 
And hope, she sang, as sing the birds of June, 
For joy of life, and straightway poured her song 
In sweet and simple measure on the air. 



**I think in the lives of the most of us, 
There are times when the commonest things 

Are touched with so rhythmic a sweetness 
That the heart from necessity sings. 



There are days v/hen the sun is so erolden, 
And the skies are so wondrously blue, 

That simply to live, and be happy. 
Seem strangely and thrillingly new. 



And a glance oi the eye, or a greeting, 
A clasp of the hand, a caress, 
Are fraught with a magical meaning, 
'Twere vain to deny or repress. 
159 



BIRCH LEAVES 



If Reason should ask me the wherefore 

Or Judgment cry, 'FooHsh, unwise/ 
I could answer the one or the other 

With only these humble replies — 

That God in His infinite mercy. 

Our hearts — as the note of a bird. 
High over the wrath of the tempest, 

Is sometimes unceasingly heard — 

He shaped to sing never so dumbly, 
Above the world's working and wear. 

The one little story of gladness, 
The tremolo note of His care. 

If the heart can foreet it is lonely, 

Or the wearying work of the day 
In the musical rhvthm of being, 

For a moment can vanish away. 

It is needful to question and wonder 

What reason we have for our mirth ; 
Since for all of us shine the clear heavens 

And for all of us blossoms the earth?" 

The judges heard. "Go live, and living, learn," 

They said. "Not 'till some ripeness gloss the fruit 

Of immature and wandering thought, or life, 

As with an artist's brush, hast vivified 

Thy dreams, canst thou dare hope admission here." 

Reluctantly adown the way she passed, 
And joined the weary throngs beyond. To them 
She spoke some simple word of cheer; for heart 
And hope alike repelled resrret, and sang 

160 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 



Anew the siren's lay. And ever rose 
Above her daily task, and voiced itself 
In simple song, her love of life and earth. 
Ofttimes with eager feet she sought the courts 
Of Fame, and gathered reverently the words 
That fell from mighty lips, and longed to learn 
The secret which doth "gild the gold, and paint 
The lily's grace," with earth's much prized success. 
For self? Ah, no! to sing v^ps life; but loved 
And tender ones with mute caresses begged 
Eluding plenty's peace. Yet oft upon 
Her strained and listening ear, there fell 
The stern and unrelenting. No. 



At last, 
When life prophetic autumn hues had gained. 
With weakened steps she trod again the path 
Familiar grown with frequent journeyings. 
With face from which the rose had flown, and eyes 
Adroop, alike tO' some fair saint, who tells 
In patient calmness oft her missal o'er 
She faltered forth her song. By hope upheld 
No less; for sorrowing years too truly told 
The many colored cup, wherein doth lie 
The bitter sweet of ripe experience 
Had but too oft unto her lips been pressed. 
"I thought," she mused, "when youth was mine, to speak 
A word of truth or poesy that might 
Its echo wake within these courts. 
I yet must seek, tho' dimly burns the flame 
Of life, and hope her weary wings unfolds 
But slowly at my call. And is there none 
To bid the humble singer to the feast 
Of fair accomplishment, who labors long 
And in the autumn homeward brings her sheaves? 

161 



BIRCH LEAVES 



No happier one with vision unobscured 

By mists of doubt, and films of bitter tears 

To beckon her to paths of answering peace? 

Is this a doubtful good I seek? Ah, no! 

The spirit ever longs for greater heights, 

Nor knows its strength until thro' sun and storm 

Its callow wings are tried. It still must sing; 



"No more? O love did you hear it? 

Nor opened your lips e'en to speak? 
Nor lifted the curve of your lashes, 

To flash out the glances I seek? 



No more? It is idle to tell me! 

As if the sweet days we have known. 
The joys we have brought to each other, 

Were passed as a wind that is blown! 



No more? All the red of your roses 
Lies tranced in a beautiful sleep, 

That seeketh to hold you enchanted 
Their langorous fragrance to keep ! 



No more? Here, love, is a blossom 

That is white as the snow of your brow; 

Your waxen white fingers shall clasp it 
Its delicate grace to endow. 



No more? O, sweet, I am lonely! 

Just open your lips but to speak, 
And lift up the curve of your lashes 

To flash out the glances I seek! 
162 



hy BIRCH ARNOLD 



No more? Is it I who am dreaming? 

Can it be what they tell me is true ? 
Is it fancy that holds me enchanted. 

And death has its seal upon you?" 



Ah! even as she turned away, uprose 
Within her breast the joy of song, Again 
She heard her soul's entreating cry, Again 
She felt that 'till the flickering flame had burnt 
Its last of life, the solace of its fantasy 
Would yet enwrap itself around her pain. 
And place her winged feet above the stern 
And arid plains of hunger's barren land. 
But O, for those she loved the tears would flow, 
And sharpened sighs her bosom rend. 'Twas hard 
To win for them no' guerdon of her hope ; to press 
No brimming cup untO' their lips, and feel 
The Heavenly joy that blesses him who gives. 



O, strife! To young and eager hearts the thorn 
That only makes alluring blossoms sweet 
Enhances love's endeavor; ambition's paths 
Makes doubly grand, and up the toilsome steeps 
Of time, sets fond and full frutition's meed — 
Ye speak a bitter word to those who feel 
The strength of years ebb slowly thro' their veins ; 
Who only climb the roughened grade at voice 
Of duty calling higher. Ye paint no bloom 
Upon the mountain top to light the dark 
And gruesome caves of doubt ; ye only speak 
The pain and weariness where else should be 
The placid rest of life's accomplishment! 

163 



BIRCH LEAVES 



Yet once again, oppressed with boding fear 
And all her sorrowing years like wrathful ghosts 
Attendant on her thought, she sang as sings 
The cygnet when it feels the slow approach 
Of death, in faltering tones before the gates : 

"O, Sleep, fond friend, when we're together 

I find contentment's calm repose, 
With thee, I dream of sunny weather. 

And the far sweet land of the thornless rose. 

With thee, forgotten all my sorrows, 
The sinister dread and doubt and fear; 

With thee no spectral, sad- eyed morrows 
Upon my sunless way appear. 

With thee I walk the fields Elysian, 
And drink the sweetened chalice there, 

With thee I see the raptured vision 

Of long besought and answered prayer. 

Sweet sleep! When last we lie together 

Within the cold and narrow bed, 
More softly than the wafted feather 

Let thy last fond "Adieu" be said. 

And bid me wake some tender morning 

Beyond the harbor's purple bar. 
Where life beholds in radiant dawning, 

How clear its wondrous mazes are! 

The song was ended. On the evening air 
Its tender notes had scarcely died away. 
When forth the order came. "Go ope the gates. 
And bid the singer hence." 

164 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

The heralds sprang, 
And loud the rattling bolt and chain flew back. 
And slowly creaked the temple's gates ajar. 
But up the step there came no eager form. 
And on the threshold lying there, they saw 
With pallid, peaceful face, the singer — dead! 

The dreamer woke, and with a shudder cried, 
O, Love ! In humble ways with thee to stray, 
Who art my all; whose every thought awakes 
Its sweet reflection in my heart, as stars 
In lesser brilliance see themselves retold 
In placid lakes ; whose slightest word can make 
My being thrill to harmonies divine, 
When on my trembling soul thy master hand 
In Godlike power is laid. With thee to find 
The gold of life embosomed in our love. 
Our sweet content, and e'en in grief that comes 
As falls the rain upon us all, Ah, this 
Alone can make the desert earth tO' bloom, 
Alone can recompense for tears ; alone 
Can smooth the thorny path, or satisfy 
The thirsting heart with Heaven's cooling dews ! 



165 



TO MY PEN 

Good bye, old friend, weVe been together 
Through sun and storm this many a year, 

And which is dearer, tell me whether. 
The smile you gave me, or the tear? 

We smiled sometimes, the world unknowing 
How much it missed in many a jest, 

'Twixt you and me the laughter showing 
Made life take on an added zest. 

And if sometimes our tears were blended, 
0*er justice wronged, or love laid low, 

We knew before the story ended 

The sorrowing heart with hope would glow. 

We pictured life in varyin? fashion. 
We painted beauty's roseate cheek, 

We captured every master passion. 
And tried to make the captives speak. 

We loved with love in fond pursuing, 
We thrilled beneath the lover's kiss. 

And this perchance, was our undoing 
So loath were we a joy to miss. 

The field of fact was sharpened stubble 
To cut and bruise our unused feet. 

We liked to shun the paths of trouble 
And feel the pulse of pleasure beat. 
166 



by BIRCH ARNOLD 

But ah! with fate, the tireless master. 
We drank full aft the draup^ht of pain. 

And oft o'erwelmed in fresh disaster 
We sighed for peace, but sighed in vain. 

We felt our souls grow tired and languish 

Beneath the blast of sorrow's breath, 
And prostrate lay in utter anguish 

Before the frowning face of death. 

And thus the scenes were ever shifting, 

We lived them all, old friend and true, 
But felt the shadows round us lifting 

When you and I could dream and do. 

We looked upon the height believing 

We might attain its vernal crown. 
But you and I, old friend, are grieving, 

Compelled to lay that sweet hope down. 

A halt is called, there's no unheeding 

The hand that clasps you nerveless s^rows ; 

When shall we meet? ah! cease your pleading. 
That time, alas ! God only knows ! 



167 



JUST TO BE TRUE 

I care not for glories and triumphs of earth, 

Let them be many, or let them be few, 
Of all that life offers the one thing of worth 
Is just to be true. 

The world is so hollow with pretense and sham 

When the poniard of honor pierces it through, 
That I pray I may seem never more than I am 
But just to be true. 

In the effort to conquer, be strong and be free, 

In all that I hope, and all that I do 
Whatever confronts me, the one thing for me 
Is just to be true. 

To the friends that I love, where ever I go 

Let them be old, or let them be new, 
The best I can offer, the best can bestow 
Is just to be true. 

And often I think when the heavenly day, 
Its glories shall ope to my wondering view, 
Forgiven my sins if at last I can say, 
I have been true! 



168 



WIS 













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